Sometimes I think if you were here then she’d be happier
two who tango on the line of suicide versus waiting for your time
instead, you left
and my mommas a mess.
Remember when you broke her?
It was so long ago
but the pieces are still scattered
there, along the floor
I counted near a thousand,
I picked up 24
but by that time, I noticed
600 more had fell.
The blues are here, I fear to stay
so I’ll kneel down and hope, and pray
I don’t come home and find her
cold and dead one day
perhaps a noose, a razor, a pill
then she’d have her way.
Somtimes I think if you were here then she’d be happier,
but then I recall,
the most ****ed up detail of them all,
the way you’d smile when she’d say:
“I think I’ll kill myself someday.”