Five, four, three, two... too late.
For any of this. Too late for anything
Too late for love, too late for lust.
The park smells like emptiness every morning
Feels like rain on a perfect day.
I hate the rain.
Dripping on my glasses.
I hate you. Running through my mind.
Five, six, seven, eight... hate this thinking of you
All the time. Nothing but your lips
On my neck,
You're hands wrapped around mine and me
Making up stories about who I am
And you. Already. Leaving. Without me.
Because crazy is contagious. And that's what I am.
And you're afraid of me.
And I'm afraid of me too.
But all that counts is us counting down
To when it'll all
Be. Positive. Again.
So drive away and don't look back.
I'll walk home in this rain.
One day you'll count on me.