“I keep my anger at home” locked in a box that’s high on a shelf. I don’t take it down -and force myself to look at other things. Her lingerie, the plants, our photos. If I take the box down it shows me everything you’ve done to take for granted my love. The missed calls, the bruises on my lips – the knife I held that time on the kitchen floor when you were faded and throwing hits. I get new tattoos, autobiographical, showing how you killed me.
Step aside, let the devil through. He’s no help when I call, he likes the show you put on. Put your fingers around my neck and squeeze with everything you have. Take the box down – you broke my goddamned heart. I drink myself to death to prove everyone right. Give me a gun, give me a gun. I’ll blow my own head of just to watch you come undone.
Play the cords in e-minor, an outlaws love song – put the box back on the shelf before I kill us both. Pass me the whiskey – settling my own score. I haven’t had enough, my soul hasn’t made peace.
I’ll wait to kill me until your asleep.