Ink Soused

you're a tourist trap
you're a tar pit

we sent songs so we could sing along
it only left me wrecked
you smiled quietly for it felt wrong

I was left like a hand, ticking like a clock's

I am in oakland fighting the good fight
and you moved in with a head of rocks

a bed of lies
as fake as your new voice

it was such a simple choice

I smashed my car
you got your hair done

the labor of spoiled fruits
fingers laced in nectar, blood from your stone
wiped clean with camera flashes

you make me want to rip up flowers by their roots
you make me want burn my photographs and finally breathe in your ashes

does he know the path of your veins
ingrained in my brain
the shape of your teeth
on the tip of my tongue

almost

I was the one
repugnantly observant
I just hope that deep deep down you find it all worth it

I know those names he called you
and I've never called you anything
but perfect