I sat out here on this bench you see.
The day you decided to call.
Sure, I thought-
I’ll give her sweet misery, and let the phone ring on.
Then I thought, oh wait a second-
I need not hope, but love.
Then I called you up-
sweat down my neck,
tracing down my broken body,
until into a pool of dread it falls,

Sweet cigarette
lit between my lips-
death tightly bound within its seductive folds.
This addictive paper,
shadowing the tangerine sky,
taking on my misery
as some random guy walks by.
I sit up straight,
with debate,
and imagine your dead eyes.
on I look into the sky,
and wish this was not mine.

There is a lot I should have felt the need to say,
and a lot I should have felt the need to do.
But now I just plummet here alone,
just thinking of what used to be you.