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I owe taxes to the government of grief making love to a bottle of absinthe I want to punch the mirror let it hurt like a bitch

side a you met him at a bar i met him through a scar when he came back to town he smelt like you listening to Fiona Apple like a addict with her needles I hope for your sake he's not laying his hands on you, Mabel I'm sure he's good in the sheets until he hits you with his cleats side b I hope sex with her is like shredded chicken is it because she fakes her orgasms? is she going to have all of your babies the motherboard rejected you were poison ivy all over my body kept the

I wish we were strangers at a bar Can I have a cocktail of dopamine and tequila? Go to the back and light a cigarette that tastes like when you still liked me Watch you watch me leave without the light leaving my eyes