my guts are in a figure eight
as i fall away
your hand is on my leg
as your face, it fades away
fire in your temper's furnace
glows on your salty face
happy birthday, time, my dear
your day to shine is grey
and the gap
between your bodies will close
i'll stay away
my hands will fold
and i'll continue to slip between the cracks in your fingers like i did so many months before my body was swallowed whole by the hole new york made in my heart that was gaping and bleeding for you

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