the dust clears off the box full of hopeless memories

the master lock looks old and rusted

i should've burned this box along with all the others

forgetting you has been the hardest part and i'm not sure i wish to remember

at all.

like angels on the verge of suicide

i turn my head and shed a tear

and fall for what seems like a thousand miles

until i hit the cold cement floor beside your feet

dont pick me up because

my brittle bones cant withstand another touch from your hands

i'll get up on my own and i'll burn this box

the fire will look good glistening off the curves of your face