i already work a 9 to 5 to pay my rent and cigarette cravings that pops kernels in my chest and burns my knees but that pain was a needle's ***** compared to not having you by my side
of course love was more than pocket change so i bought you a plane ticket (-six hundred dollars) and the fastest booked train ticket (-ten dollars) to see you
on our date we had sushi (-twenty five dollars) and drank merlot (-twelve dollars) our intoxication engulfed the best of us and we made love in the back of my chevy until the morning hit
our souls intertwined to be one being after work i used to buy you flowers (-eight dollars) tied with ribbons that matched your favorite yellow sweater
some nights our stove light would burn away and need repair (-three hundred and twenty dollars) so we would bus down edgewood road (-four dollars and forty-two cents) to get ourselves takeout at seven pm (-fifteen dollars) then sit on a bench in the mall while we licked ice cream off our fingers (-six dollars and fifty cents) i would reach into my coat and light a cigarette from the pack (-nine dollars) for us to share
we used to sit and talk about life the drugs we tried the theories of aliens that roamed the galaxies our passion and sadness rolled into one blunt of conversation that we used to occasionally share in highschool
if life gave me lemons i would buy you an orchard to pass-through i would buy you your favorite shampoo (-fourteen dollars) and watch the suds crawl down your back while i brushed my teeth every tuesday morning
we would make breakfast from last night's grocery shopping (-one hundred thirty-two dollars) and listen to the sounds of the city that shouted outside our 2 bedroom apartment that only i pay for and it caused us to stay awake and scream until we numbed the burning in our lungs with the sounds of ******* trying to find the music in all this anger for i couldn't feed you the foods you wished to dine upon or fetch the duvet you hoped to be sprawled whoreishly upon our fading mattress that smushed our boxspring
but sometimes the *** wouldn't help and you would come home with wads of one-dollar bills crumpled up in your pockets and it makes me wonder if my love no longer sells for you sometimes our anger spills in copious drops of alcohol (-37 dollars) and crashes into shards of fine (-300 dollar) china my mother bought to brighten the rooms sometimes i find myself waking up to an empty bedside with you curled up on my couch with hair knotted on your head and (-10 dollar) mascara staining your face like coffee flowing from the lips of my ***
because i don't have enough money to give to soothe your soul for loving you is a fortune that turned dollars into pocket change to drop on the streets
and the bank came in with a statement that fined you the money you owed my account so you packed your (-400 dollar) suitcases and fled with the glass of my heart still pricked within your palms and the receipts of cash licking my doorstep clean