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I said that name and skipped a heartbeat.
I said it with a second chance and a forgetful smile.
I said it with a faint glimmer of suicide.
I taste my wreckage in our conversations deep under the faint hums
of far gone engines.
With all signal flares blazing we lay somewhere in between
the smeale of yellow lines
and a year of empty promises.
I long for the grant of wings.
I long for the dead of night when all of this passes.
You never meant those three words.
Now I can't remember how to set my heart alight.
You never meant a word.
Not a fucking word of it.
I am so sick of goodbyes.
So sick of committing suicide.
I am so sick of the in between, now and then.
So sick of swinging the hammer.
So sick of my suicide, of burying every hero that I had.

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