We sit separated by the parking brake
The car on hold, exhaust choked up
Like the words that won’t come out
How do I bring myself to say that

The park is silent and the air musty
And so are we; a million tissues lie around
Like a flower bed of scrunched up lilies
It’s getting warm and I get out
But the words don’t

I offer an olive branch
It’s not quite the same thing
All I do is cover the gun with a pillow
To muffle the sound when I pull the trigger
The bullet still hits. The bullet still
Hits

Maybe it was foolishness coupled
With regret. I bring myself to say
The greatest lie that I shouldn’t
But we are both tired and I really want to go

I bring myself to say I don’t
Love you.