your belly up disposition is an emblem
sacrificing itself to a lesser good
and my head in the sand is just an excuse
to not be there for you when i should.

i was an empty melody
and no one was ever kind enough
not to notice

*except him

i am now just a handful of negatives
in a box on the top shelf of your heart.

i wish i were something else

her name still rests on his lips
and i taste her when i kiss him
he tells me she's dead but
her ghost is in our bed
and i can't even **** it.

she sleeps between us,
eats at his heart

and he won't even touch me
because i am what she's not.

he tells me she's gone
but i know the harsh bark of her voice
better than i know my own song

i keep singing
and singing
and singing
hoping to cut through what's wrong
i keep singing
and singing
and he knows the words now
but he won't sing along.

no, he won't sing along.

when everything we touch
either turns to ash
or turns to gold
we must learn
when to hold on
and when to let go