Categories > Original > Poetry0 Reviews
things in my wake.
It's One-Twenty-Seven and i'm fucking insane
I can't find the letters I wrote you last night
But if I could I would have showed you them
But you had to go and fucking die.
This is my fault, isn't it?
I'm the one that told you to jump off a cliff
And i'm the one that insisted you drink that glass dry
Where do you go
When you can only go wrong?
Slitting your own throat
When you can drive your car to the edge of the world
And pray you don't hear the screams.