the dust clears off the box full of hopeless memories
the master lock looks old and rusted
i should've burned this box along with all the others
forgetting you has been the hardest part and i'm not sure i wish to remember
at all.

like angels on the verge of suicide
i turn my head and shed a tear
and fall for what seems like a thousand miles
until i hit the cold cement floor beside your feet

dont pick me up because
my brittle bones cant withstand another touch from your hands
i'll get up on my own and i'll burn this box
the fire will look good glistening off the curves of your face

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