the color red
Grab onto my coat tails
Make sure they’re straight
Sink into the floor
It’s getting late
Misappropriate my heart on our first date
Kill me, softly
Slowly, fondly
Grab onto my suit pocket
Show me what two people can do
I’ll watch from the nosebleeds and give you a three-star rating
Like the critics do
But nothing heals me like the thought of you
Grab my hand
Try to understand
That I didn’t text because I loved you
And that stale stairwell on a Thursday night was the best feeling
Your voice like a teleprompter
Promptly, kindly
Crying, softly
Grab onto every little thing
You tell me it’s wrong to keep calling you
And I’ll lay shattered trying to find some roundabout reasoning
Like those in denial do
But nothing breaks me like the thought of you
Grab a light
Fade out of sight
Consider the seventh circle of comedy
It’s getting late
I managed to get through the day today
Barely, softly
Despair, dishonesty
Grab onto the thought of me
Find a way not to think about you
Distract myself with a conversation until two
Like most people do
But nothing kills me like the thought of you