only bearable thing
i only ever wanted to find a cure. i think you'd let the world die if it meant you got a couple seconds extra that you could hold over the rest of us in hell. amber sweet, give up the knife. pick up something nice. go help out at a soup kitchen or something. pull over next time you pick up your phone. put a curtain over the mirror. i wont say i miss you back, isn't my hatred enough for you? do i keep you up at night? never say i didn't give you anything. i gave you a reason to smoke yourself to death, i gave you a reason to bat your eyes at the first boy who walked by. i'm the bile in the back of your throat, i'm the acid churning in your stomach, i'm the abnormal white blood cells in your veins, i'm the tumor growing in your brain and you're oh so sick of/with me. one day i'm sure they'll cut the cancer out and you'll be so damn proud of yourself for beating me. i couldn't care less because the things i want to say to you will give you comorbidities for the rest of your life. you'll never be able to smoke again after you're done with me--oh god and then what will you do? maybe you'll have to face the real world for once. oh but poor baby can't do that, can she? sorry. my head feels like a car crash these days, i can't get away from it but i feel myself sliding on slick roads. what am i gonna do now? can't get well, can't get sick, can't get right, can't get wrong. every thought of you and him twists the steel husk of this car further into disrepair. babe, i could just steal one kiss, he won't miss it. whatever poison you pick, make sure to pour me a glass too. go out with the bang/clink of the glass being set back on the counter