i'm sorry if i was never subtle enough in letting you know you you don't cross my mind anymore. you're stuck on one side, and i've moved up the other, never looking back to see if you saw.
the road stretches on, and you've got a choice: either you sit on the side you're on, waiting, or move on down, with the occasional thumb stuck for the traffic to see you're going the way they're headed. it's nice to get a ride.
bipolar disorder and a handful of pills to let me forget there's nothing left for me once the bottles gone.