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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required You're like the moon, with all your cathartic phases And I'm like the stars if each one was a mental cliff I lost my grip on; There's just too many to count from the ground Im watching paint dry But it's all in black and white And if you ever find the time, You can admit that I was right I forgot how good we both are at not saying what's right in front of us Im watching paint dry But I'm not the artist No, I've never been the artist I'm a destroyer of healthy afflictions And a collector of sensual manifestos And trophies for all my attempts at accismus They're like stars, There's too damn many to count from this distance Your voice was trying to be serious But your eyes told me we were thinking the same thing And the same time If I'm such a martyr, then how did we get here? My hands were pinned out to my sides My fingers spread across a wooden dart board, But your throws went between them everytime You thought you were on top of everything But then you looked at the scoreboard You face turned ashen and I couldn't ignore The look you gave me when you turned and walked away There was nothing more to say It's you who has the blood dripping down your arms I'm not sure what you made you think A broken remote could've disabled these mental alarms You're the one who brought it back to life, So start digging before they find out it was your hand on the knife Let's be real, Your plane was going down And I'm no pilot, But I couldn't watch it crash into this city And besides, our love never made it And this town only needs one tragedy You're not "the one that got away", You're the one that came back but forgot that you were ever gone Yet still, I couldn't sit and watch While your plane was clearly going down Besides, this town never even saw us try And they don't need another thing to grieve about Even if your plane missed our city, It would've run straight into the ground And I would've been there, beside myself With another piece of you to grieve about Grief is just a form of love with nowhere to go Grief is just a form of love with no place to go
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