There’s a bomb
In my pocket
In my brain
In my locket
It’s made
Of citron and pepper
To those who don’t ache
It might just hurt
Residues in her face
I see it burn
I see it grimace
I see disdain
Sometimes people like burning
Maybe they own
some bombs of their own
They can’t help but carry
Sometimes people hate citric
Maybe they haven’t ever
Ticked
They’re so used to sweet
But with you I see them burn
They don’t care to control
You don’t care
to dodge
Maybe there are antibodies
And you don’t feel the sting
When you just happen
To cry acid
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 12:53 PM UTC
There’s a bomb
In my pocket
In my brain
In my locket
It’s made
Of citron and pepper
To those who don’t ache
It might just hurt
Residues in her face
I see it burn
I see it grimace
I see disdain
Sometimes people like burning
Maybe they own
some bombs of their own
They can’t help but carry
Sometimes people hate citric
Maybe they haven’t ever
Ticked
They’re so used to sweet
But with you I see them burn
They don’t care to control
You don’t care
to dodge
Maybe there are antibodies
And you don’t feel the sting
When you just happen
To cry acid