He told her something yesterday

Wrapped in silk and false pretenses

It came in fancy envelopes dressed up with fancy words

And delivered nothing of the sort

Yesterday she was caught behind the gravestones

Drinking till the bottle smashed

And girls were not raised like this

But she was long overdue for etiquette

And this is what they’ll promise themselves

On nights with a full moon

When they are both screaming for all the blank lines they couldn’t fill

When one of them is crashing down those stairs

He’s spent years training himself on how to properly shut the door

So she never mistakes it for that of anger

And by now she’s probably on the floor

Burnt right through the skin

Bearing bones far more than her heart

And by now he’s probably thinking of other women

How they sit legs crossed and don’t curse under smiles

But to each their own

And this is nothing but a massacre

If their epitaph reads nothing but blank spaces

She’ll be drinking by those gravestones

With the dead roses

And he’ll be wrapped up in other girls

Where heads lie on cold pillows

You can find them there

Silent

Playing the role of the ghosts they wish to be.