sometimes when i'm driving,
sometimes when it's a little past midnight,
i play that song on my radio
and i turn it up loud
in hopes that you'll be able to hear it
and it's not that i do it
to wallow in my self-pity
i do it because it
feels like a blow to my face
everytime i hear the songs spew out of my speakers
and to be honest,
that feels better than nothing
sometimes i leave little things behind,
sometimes i leave little pieces of my heart
in old songs
with old memories

i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry


*sorry...

i've never been to
a confessional but i
told you i loved  you
while you held me in a
dark bedroom and i
think that's close
enough.

today i listened to music and cried
for the first time in
a really long time
it still hurts

When we were younger
We'd sit and play for hours
With dolls and beads and flowers
With toy cars and train tracks
And at the end of the day
We'd pack them away and put them all back.
We'd go down by the river
And laugh and shiver
And joke about growing old
Little did we know
What was about to unfold

As we grew older, the fires inside of us, began to smoulder,
The shoulders we'd come to rely on
Started to decay
As we made our way, into the world
Suddenly the dolls came to life
As our dreams of becoming a husband, a wife
Started to sour.
The beads formed nooses around our necks
As we began to lose our innocence
To drugs and ***.
The flowers shrivelled up and died
As we sat and cried our own rivers to drown in.
And those pretty little halos and silver tin crows
That used to iron out our frowns
S
   l
      i
        p
           p
             e
               d,
as we d i p p e d our toes into adulthood.
The toy cars crashed,
As we smashed head on, in a collision with reality.
And there was so need to plead
For the box with our train track toys
Because the little girls and boys inside us
Had died long ago.

And besides
We drew our own tracks up and down our wrists
And straight through our hearts.
As we began to realise
We were running out of
Fresh starts and new beginnings.

I think it's important that you know
that love was never my strong suit,
or a weak suit or a suit
I ever wore proudly. Indeed,
it stung me harshly, and I,
being clever, learned not to grasp
the thorny branch of the rose so tightly.
Like every Irish child,
learned not to slap the stinging nettles
for "biting" me.
I am fine, honestly,
but I won't pursue you. I might just
**** all the nectar out of you
until you're a skeleton,
a little shell,
a little mark on my arm of a lost you.