A slate cannot
be wiped clean
if sins are
written with a
chisel.

I kept all the photographs
We were beautiful and bored and weird, but we were comfortable
Trying to light cigarettes with a lighter that was out of fluid
Doing some drugs to make the world pretty again
Getting lost in our thoughts and getting lost in each other
Gazing at the world through the rearview mirror of his car
We had no idea

All we had, we lost
We were never meant to be part of the future
I looked at him and thought about the intensity with which I loved him
And yet, all I could hear myself say was, "We're not gonna make it"
Then he said it out loud
So I repeated it back
And we were so happy, so careless
We knew we wouldn't last so we laughed and laughed and carried on and kissed until our mouths were too dry and the day still wanted to last

We were beautiful and bored and weird
But we were never gonna make it
We never did make it

If I were the words
that fall like crosses from your lips
I would flow from your lungs like holy water,
opening your mouth like double mahogany doors.

If I were the words
that fall like crosses from your lips
and float down on guardian wings from your tongue
I would carry no sound but still be comparable
to church bells.

If I were the words
that fall like crosses from your lips
I would have been glad
to have been nothing more
than a word from the bible of your speech.