it's simple really, nostalgia is buried in a melody
the same way humans are put in coffins--
deliberately heart-wrenching, a science.
an old transistor radio climbs lazily in the background,
buzzing, humming but then hear it--
blank stares as the road carries on, gradually,
slow mascara rivulets kiss cheeks like the intimacy long forgotten only to come rushing back--
songs that we said were ours were never ours to have,
an old familiar lyric that we claimed to spell destiny,
auditory memories that taunt and torture:
the chorus only instigates barbed thorns to lonesome hearts,
major chords aren't happy,
but cause discordance--
clenched fists on the steering wheel, you must pullover--
you can't pause or rewind, you can't stop--
yes, change the channel--
but the music still plays, and the riffs hang in your head,
remembered and reminisced over static--
but nothing is white noise when the final notes linger on your auditory palette,
the taste like the stare of a cold gravestone...

but even colder still,
the empty seat next to you.

Take a knife and cut me up
If you hate me you won't stop
Make me feel the pain within
As your slitting through my skin
Make me weaker as I bleed
For your mercy make me plead
Hear me screaming in the dark
As you leave your painful mark
Blood is running down my face
As my beauty you erase
Trying to cut through every vein
On your shirt your leaving stains
I wish you knew I didn't care
If you hurt me everywhere
You can slit my skin apart
But you can't cut
Through my broken heart

These cigarettes remind me of you.
But I'll smoke them in hopes of killing all of the hope you left inside of me.
These cigarettes remind me of you.
They burn my skin when I least expect it.
These cigarettes remind me of you.
They are slowly killing me from the inside out.
These cigarettes remind me of you.
But I'll smoke them anyways because this is the only way that I'll taste your lips again.