trying to escape the pressure in the middle of my chest
in a race against the sting behind my eyes
forking out all the times your pillow was my breast
holding on to me with your faithful lies
fighting off you for awhile
all the while waiting for that smile
pictures never tell the whole story
just the parts you want to remember
the yelling the screaming the glory
that one night in december
oh my guilty pleasures!
and i know i'm the only juror in this trial
i'm aware of my little disasters
consistantly choosing my sweet denial
found evidence on scraps of paper
convincing myself of some truth
but there's none of that here
not anymore, just a fool and her liar
fighting off you for awhile
all the while waiting for that smile
fuck your phone call and your 'how've you been?'
real dandy. good enough to hold up my chin.
how 'bout, where the fuck did you put my heart?
did you leave it in the gutter somewhere carelessly
or did you give it somebody else? probably
good job mr. man.
good smile.
good style.
triumphant do you stand?
without fail, there you are again.
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