i awoke once more to copper. tints of green shade the room like your only dress.
now you're gone, off to the store, or for good, but these things change a lot these days. (oh, you're gone again, and this time for good, but everything's changed.)
and your off-white frame fades into the moonlight seamlessly. your silhouette haunts me from a distance, and to your cold touch, i woke.
eyes stuck together; the view of your bedside.
don't lift a finger, your bed's already been made by the setting sun and season's end.
we all lie with our fate; something accessible at the time.
champagne shot onto a wall by a hand dashed against the rafters, like a poem on fire for a friend. i was on my mountain, i wish i cared that they were all over you at the fire.
help me to hold on, or pry off my fingers one by one, i wish i cared. i'm sifting through what's not mine.
i sat there in silence and grew more distrait, and it feel's like last last winter, but everything's changed. and i'm wasting away; another faded shade of grey.
in my dreams you spoke of exile and untouched memories too tattered to carry home.
Track Name: small trenches
you said "not yet", and for a moment i thought you meant it; that you would come back or i'd go find you.
i've dug a small trench for us to lie in. we can embrace and wait for the rain to fall and become only bones.
sometimes i feel like i don't have a name, my identity is gone, but these feelings haven't changed. it's another shade of grey that will never go away and i can say that it's changed me.
there's something that shakes inside me. i see you when i'm sleeping drenched in reckless meaning. i dream of dying before i crawl my way to my feet and see i'm the same as i was yesterday.
i remember days that dragged on like months and emotions way less fleeting.
love is the dagger that stabbed me in the back.
you swore that you've never seen a more perfect sunset over these midwestern hills, and i'm honored to break your heart. our bodies stretched out like trees trying to scare the red from the leaves.
this air we breathe swells inside me: the only thing that's left still moving.
you wore the saddest shade of grey scattered across the canvas no one expected you to paint.