She wore her boots in the house
After playing in the rain.
Melancholy’s an addiction.
Girl, I’ll help you find a vein.

I’m a connoisseur of tears;
Your strain won’t go unheard.
There’s no foreplay in a deluge;
A scotch mist is what’s preferred.

This piece reverberates with the hit.
Visceral melodies all the way down the lungs.
She pretends she doesn’t hear the whispers:
The lovers curled in smoke and tongues.

Bathe me in your pain doll,
So that I know I’m not the only one alive.
Tell me you’ll take my shame
Right when the ****** crux arrives.

There’s clout in the touch
Of our despondent souls.
Call it a brain blast mind massacre:
The splendored splice of two becoming whole.

Don’t think I can’t hear your solitude
When we’re separated by a screen.
It screams out from your nuance;
Tells me she’s a shadow-queen.

Sad girls I adore,
Especially when they let me in their shell.
Cause the same water in their room
Is flooding mine as well.