I left this. I left it all for you,
Including the cigarette on that windowsill.
It's still burning. But is this still burning?
I hope that you hear this,
Through the purposely cracked bedroom door:
"I think that all this has burned through my memories,
Through my memories of . . . Shhh."
So I hope at your funeral, I can give a speech.
Maybe after I talk (with no one listening),
I'll lie in your coffin with you, because it's just another bed.
And recite the words of the brain of that stereo -
I want you to notice when I'm not around,
Because you're not around and I swear I've noticed.
All that your wanted was something more than this.
And some living, breathing prototype leaves me searching my lips,
For a kiss I lost, that I think you never gave to me.
To say I need a band-aid,
Wouldn't it be apaprent over everything I'm wearing, and over my heart?
But some living, breathing prototype,
Strips all these photographs from an album that you gave to me.
And that record keeps playing,
So break another one when I notice you're gone - for how long?
Spend time alone,
Once I've noticed you've been gone for quite some time now.
