funeral pyre

i wake up with the same pain every night

digging a hatchet into my left side

clearing my chest of something to burn

ash for a decorative urn you keep in your mantelpiece;

like a trophy for everything

that withers eventually

call me a coward

but i'm too scared to leave

'cause i want you to be the last thing i see

call me a coward

but i'm too scared to leave

watched you pouring lighter fluid out onto the leaves

and i would've loved you with the dying fire

let you smother me down to the embers

frostbite turning my limbs as black as cinder of funeral pyre

and i would have stayed if you asked me to

stood outside till my lips turn blue

i wouldn't have blamed you

for leaving me there on the porch while you drank gasoline

'cause it's what you needed so bad

and it's true

it's nothing that we could do