i tried to love you last night
with whiskey, whiskey
but you've left, gone west
the morning after, the morning after

Mid-20 doldrums never really wore off
still slay the summers with smiles
                                            like punches
Still walking wounded through the bad joke lanes,
questions clamped under your tongue,
with an aching brain

Can't believe we thought we'd left a place.
Still rattling 'round inside these tin can
                                                roadways.
Car­rying cards after we fold the game
Poured pretty comforts down our throats--
                      so many candied gas tanks.

And I agree: these couches
                    are feeling more like graves
Will our crutches craft our coffins
'til we bobble routine plays?
Nothing changed before we knew it.
6-year blink, it's all the same.
                                It's just that

Mid-20 doldrums never really wore off.
Still blur the border between wants and needs.
Still **** our thumbs when all the
                                               lights turn off.
Still check our pulses,
then start laughing loud as
                                 knocking knees

Can't believe we thought we'd left a place.
We're still too comfortable with our own kind.
Still fall in love with the same friends
                               for just a few days at a time

And I concur: these routines
                 are looking more like chains
Will these crutches seal our caskets?
Would we notice anyway?
Nothing changed before we knew it
6-year blink, it's still the same.

Mid-20 doldrums never really wore off.
Still chasing sunsets and a 10-cent dream.
Still rattling 'round inside these tin can
                                           roadways
Still placing patches over fraying seams

Still checking pulses, still on quaking knees.
Still too scared to make up our minds
Still turning parties into 3-day headaches
while we pretend like we can take our time

Can't believe we thought we'd left a place
Still slay the summers with smiles
                                            like punches.

My headache is sitting next to me telling me things I already know.

I can feel the anger pulsate through my blood stream
It travels full circuit in less than a second
I can feel the pounding of it cause a headache that screams and bellows through my skull
When I look down at my wrist I can see the blackness traveling through my veins
It creates black shadowed trees, wishing that I would set it free from the poison
It taunts me and begs for the kisses of razor sharp blades
My own veins would rather be cut open than feel the poison traveling within it
As for my mind, there is no escaping that.
No razor blades to kiss it better
And no medication strong enough to will the screaming echoes away