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Description
I asked you for a new sort of heart
I asked you with glassy champagne eyes,
because the bubbles make me more sincere,
and that’s all I really wanted to be.
I pour my knotted soul into our conversations at night,
Pretending to laugh at the sinister stains it leaves in the mornings,
To wake up and blame anything but my words of truth,
to lie and lie again, for you.

I tell you with that half-numbed brain,
A lung full of a breath that tastes like vodka,
To excuse myself with when you don’t want to hold my hand.
I tell you almost everything in fumbled sentences.
I talk of your blue eyes, that should really be dark dark brown,
And how your smile sort of hurts me,
in the good way, like when old movies make you cry,
And think about who you were with when you first saw them.
I think about your sculpture collarbone and your stupid words.
I think about the way you talk to me when we’re alone,
and the way you talk to people when I’m around.

I imagine a girl who says all the lovely things to you,
The girl that fills your head, the one you left quietly broken.
I think of all your fear and all that girls’ pain.
And how I’m scared to death that I’m sitting in her fucking grave.
Yelling out tiny drunken echoes of her beautiful words.
I think about when I wake up with an invisible weight on my chest,
and I panic for the first few breaths.
Until I realize I am the one dancing and juggling in stripped, colored pants
For a king and his beloved queen.

Description
I asked you for a new sort of heart
I asked you with glassy champagne eyes,
because the bubbles make me more sincere,
and that’s all I really wanted to be.
I pour my knotted soul into our conversations at night,
Pretending to laugh at the sinister stains it leaves in the mornings,
To wake up and blame anything but my words of truth,
to lie and lie again, for you.

I tell you with that half-numbed brain,
A lung full of a breath that tastes like vodka,
To excuse myself with when you don’t want to hold my hand.
I tell you almost everything in fumbled sentences.
I talk of your blue eyes, that should really be dark dark brown,
And how your smile sort of hurts me,
in the good way, like when old movies make you cry,
And think about who you were with when you first saw them.
I think about your sculpture collarbone and your stupid words.
I think about the way you talk to me when we’re alone,
and the way you talk to people when I’m around.

I imagine a girl who says all the lovely things to you,
The girl that fills your head, the one you left quietly broken.
I think of all your fear and all that girls’ pain.
And how I’m scared to death that I’m sitting in her fucking grave.
Yelling out tiny drunken echoes of her beautiful words.
I think about when I wake up with an invisible weight on my chest,
and I panic for the first few breaths.
Until I realize I am the one dancing and juggling in stripped, colored pants
For a king and his beloved queen.