Permanent chills

Traffic lights blink like they might just know
why I'm holding onto his phone.
2 A.M. he drove to my home.
The nail salon, that once got me so stoned*.

You're saying "honey",
I used to run, when
they put my pictures on their mantelpiece.
Highway up Springdale, Farmingdale stars strain
divided my silence to ruin the dreams.

Two dollar mug,
my things you almost return.
I patch up memories, I couldn't let them burn.
Throat was made for choking on dreams.
The manner of this quiet death is permanent chills.

Teeth can bite, but what's the point, if skin is bulletproof, oh?
Head is brainy, but what's the use, if it's in the stove, oh?
Mirror balls and night club lights can't camouflage my heartache ,
so the last wish: scatter ashes all above the Bards lake.

William would say I Wandered lone as a Cloud.
Taylor asks why I'm frost in the midnight in crowd.
John had to watch the glory moving on.
I grasped the dreams, but his heart  turned to stone.

You raise your voice,
I say "honey, please, just hush".
The bad blood runs hot till it's all fun and blush.
Heart was made for skipping sick beats.
The manner of my quiet death is permanent chills.

Two dollar mug,
my toothbrush and bitter pills.
My dolls got broken, my baby blue's unseen.
Eyes were made for streaming salt tears.
The manner of this quiet death is permanent chills.

She's been your tempted Eve, I'll never be the first.
My memories got stuck, like gum in heart I burn.
Hands were made for picking illicit things.
The manner of my quiet death is permanent dream.

This pouring soul, so does it just make some sense?
You need to settle or kind of limerence?
Blindfolded youth it's involuntary trust.
Her heart was made of permanent rust.

A tombless body, a screaming epitaph.
"Are you just angry, or do you hate my stuff?"
Ache was made for to get it off my chest,
so let me lay in piece in my permanent rest.

They say the truth hurts, the good ones really stay.
He's a good liar -
lied right into my face.
One little righteous, one little counterfeit (me).
So write it on my skin in permanent ink.

I know I'm troubled,
but ain't you troubled too?
I'll find the way out of this labyrinth-like room.
We're getting closer, could breathe through all the blood.
Just let me die in my permanent mud.

Do you recall her, when I say letter "a"?
They say "just move on", but it feels I only stay.
Nights were made for restless minds.
The cause of this death is being much alive.








*Stoned at the Nail Salon
Song by Lorde