Mushroom clouds hang thick with a special guest appearance by a menthol cigarette.
The same color box you carry in your back pocket.
The same chemicals in your lungs live inside mine.
I can feel you pulsating behind my eyelids while
I mouth the words "I'm sorry" at your telephone number.
I don't even know what I'm apologizing for but
I miss you terribly and
I hate myself for not talking to you.
Please don't die.
And I pray to god
"why do you make me so sad?"
And he won't tell me a **** thing
Him and you like keeping secrets from me.
While he gives people sermons hallelujahs and amens
I get an echo of words in my head.