On the tip of my tongue you burned like hot coffee,
With a hit of my blunt you’ve undone my lofty,
made me a softy,
I wont forget.

Denim jacket leaning down, you’ve got room in your throat,
You’ve got words in your coat,
Pockets full of notes.

Ink on your arms that wrap, wrap around me,
Words pushing on your teeth like braces,
Laces,
Up your shoes that walk all around me,
I won't forget.

Maybe whisper it now or tell me tomorrow.

Denim jacket leaning down, tippy toes to kiss your nose.
You’ve made me a softy,
I won’t forget.

Sweet and simply say it from behind those curtains,
Smoke in your nose from my fire lungs,
Stain my breath with your words,
Blessed syllables,
I won’t forget.

You lied about my sweet weight,
And you lied about my arches,
You lied about your love for the depressions in my skin,
You faked that sincerity
Of course you lied, because how else
Could you make love to my demise?

You lied about your moon and my tides,

But you tread upon on my land,
Cheer as my salt beats my rocks into sand, I never flinched at your hand,
I never quaked at your voice,
But I should’ve,
I would’ve if I had known that you would run my rivers dry,
That you would lick your lips and sigh

You’re sick in that the only thing I hold dear,
You craved to hunt.

You rip into the throat of my wild and reckless stag,
Watch it bleed as it cranes to see by whose hand it falls,  
As it breathes its last breath it catches sight of your thumb,
It knows, but consciously it forgets, because
It is with this abandon that I die for you daily,
And you **** me anyway.

I should’ve quaked at your voice,
Hearkened to the screaming that ripped away my choice,
You never loved my mountains, fountains of lies I threw back and back,
You lied about my ocean that you don’t care to explore,

It was critical and fatal,
You lied about my sweet weight and that I cannot forgive.

You don't get dark when you fall apart
It's when you're putting it back together, that you see the damage from the bad weather,
Mom I can't come inside my clothes are soaked

I guess it's not so serious in the end,
I'm not made of glass I don't break I bend,
So I'm bent out of shape,
I'll take some yoga,
Get a massage,
Focus on my breathing,

I'll do a bunch of stuff and sort out my kinks.
Give me a high five, promise I won't flinch,

I didn't do this to myself,
But I'm here by myself,
I won't be bitter,
I'll be better,
See:
I burned all the sweaters,
I've moved somewhere with better weather,

So I should be getting lighter and I think I am.
But on Tuesday I cried because of a printer jam.
I wasn't worried about the printer but I was worried about my boss. Would they yell at me? Did I **** up? Am I worthless? Do I deserve this?

My boss is nice don't get me wrong, but I was told for four years that I am what's wrong. I am what's wrong. I am wrong.

So anyway I had to reload the paper,
I missed a therapy session and misplaced the stapler.  

So I didn't do this to myself,
But I am what I am and I'm dark,
Im here by myself not afraid of the dark,
Maybe in the end I win,
Maybe in the dark I'm better,
Maybe my night vision will save me next time,
Maybe my clothes won't be soaked.