2003-04-30 - 12:53 a.m.

I said it with a second chance and a forgetful smile.

I said it with a faint glimmer of suicide.

I taste my wreckage in our conversations deep under the faint hums

of far gone engines.

With all signal flares blazing we lay somewhere inbetween

the smeale of yellow lines

and a year of empty promises.

I long for the grant of wings.

I long for the dead of night when all of this passes.

You never meant those three words.

Now I can't remember how to set my heart alight.

You never meant a word.

Not a fucking word of it.

I am so sick of goodbyes.

So sick of committing suicide.

I am so sick of the in between, now and then.

So sick of swinging the hammer.

So sick of my suicide, of burying every hero that I had."

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