I walked in and saw you sipping from a whiskey bottle.
Your hand clenched round a note that read "not again"
There were candles there, cigarettes in the glass you gave up on.
And a rope intended to hug your neck
There was something in the way you'd look past me when I said
"They won't read about you this way"
But they would. I'd just never want to read again.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
I walked in and saw you sipping from a whiskey bottle.
Your hand clenched round a note that read "not again"
There were candles there, cigarettes in the glass you gave up on.
And a rope intended to hug your neck
There was something in the way you'd look past me when I said
"They won't read about you this way"
But they would. I'd just never want to read again.
