|
"Whichever chapter covers now, I'll crease the corner |
|
And see you out of the light, the flatters all I've heard about" |
|
Take the shine off the chandelier and bring down each crystal clear |
|
You were born of this, I was grandfathered in here |
|
This is why the street-smart don't speak |
|
I don't envy a writer's life |
|
The peaks too sparse, the swings too wide |
|
Plus the phobia of knowing nothing's ever the last time |
|
"I'm aware why you stay," she choked |
|
"Somewhere I settled for being your choir |
|
And no longer of the fire at the end of your rope |
|
If that work was meant to be |
|
It shouldn't snap every switch just to reach me |
|
Let my parents pay for my mistake in peace" |
|
My hands cover over the keys |
|
Because who knows when the next chance will be? |
|
You picked your poison, obviously |
|
It's in the paragraphs it's paining me to read |
|
What good was this dedication? |
|
I was the wrong inspiration |
|
I'm leaking the bitterest of fuel |
