A closed story; Freestyle.

Put your vice on the table so we can talk about what this has to do with you alive; you left before I could get my hands and my arms around all the little things that made you up. So much for luck, you blew all of your cards on one dumb play and now I’m sweeping your remains. Forget what’s owed, it never mattered at all.

I kid because I love; I’m worried, I’m worried on you. We wrote the book on ruining your friends, we wrote the book on skipping to the end, like when I get home and “I’m so tired baby, just roll over please, I’m so tired baby, roll over please, I’m so tired baby, roll over please; wash rinse repeat, You say these things until they’re canon.

Just throw up your hands and die, give up and learn how to cry, wash it down with the taste of sour defeat; Press it against me until I start to suffocate from the smell (It’s all right, it’s okay, just come home, come home)

We wrote the book on playing out, we wrote the book on closing out,

we wrote the book…