it took me 7 cigarettes and two cups of the blackest coffee to get over the fact that
2 months ago you ****** my best friend,
but I assured you I was,
am, not mad.
If anything I was happy
that you could finally say it.

I am regressing back to old habits that I thought I broke
and my Dad told me to say my prayers,
but I am too scared to tell him I gave that up
Everything seems foreign to me and
I can't sleep without my door locked.

You took a drag of your cigarette
a drag so long i got rug burns
on my eyes
you could have sunken a ship
with the way you burnt
your lungs and I feel so bad
for you.

the embers were blazing
reflections in your eyes
tired in from all the worrying
my fingers are stained black
and there are needle ******
all over my body
ash and the stingy
linger from past words
floating in front of your face
like a ghost that you can't quite see
but he ****** my friend
and i ****** him
and he ****** me up

there is nothing in my bones
there is nothing left for you
i threw out all of the leftovers
it all went bad
the refrigerator is empty
besides for beer and dog food
so i shut the door and go to bed
but somehow i still feel like i ate too much
i hunch over the toilet
and throw it all up
the cards are all out on the table
and i was dealt the perfect hand
but i missed my opportunity to win

I'm not even sad anymore
I'm just ******* angry
a house built on hot coals
its bound to burn down
god i wish i was sad
(or dead)
this is too destructive
and we don't have the money
to rebuild it all