i still think about you a lot.
and i don't know if that's weakness.
you're in the cigarettes i smoke
(when you handed me one after another and told me not to smoke so much)
you're in my car
(where we put the windows down and you flooded your body with medicine)
you're in my mind, and even after everything
(my hands shaking on the wheel)
you're there
(telling me how cute i was from my passenger seat)
i can barely remember your mouth or the way it felt
('this **** is fire')
and i know you were a cancer, preying on my softest parts,
(you swaying, eyes half-closed, caught in center of that 'fire')
but i can't **** that cancer i can't
(your arms around me through your haze)
because then i'd have to **** all of it
('thanks kiddo')
even the good parts.