The bowl’s been worn down to a plate
That bowl of oranges has rotted
She wings her lines
In a playwright
Of her life
She promises to leave when he’s happy
He’s depressed so she’s forced to go
But she looks into his eyes
And there it is- the emptiness grasps her
He looks at her face
Misses the passion flooding her eyes
Filling the gap between her lips
One last kiss
Meaning is thin
So is the hope
Along with the life inside this heartbreak girl
Maybe she wants to break the promise
Maybe it’s because she misses the misery
All she wants is for him to say yes
Like the first day of my life
She held a knife to his throat
He didn’t give a ****
So she gave up
Not even close to giving up
But couldn’t forget the flowers he gave or the heart he took
We’re fortunate to draw our own stars
Thrown out of the corner of that beauty
Every song is a song to you
Or a meaning to me
Wish you were here
Elliott, Conor, Isaac
Why
Why I’m like the trumpet in Mr. Smith’s rose parade
The poem to me
Which ripped me to pieces by the way