Why can't I do this right?

I see the books, of unsent letters.

The stupid shit, I can't bare to throw away.

I mention you casual in conversation.

Why can't one of our stupid asses pick up the damn phone?

We're not this over.. We're not this done.

I still haven't been to Vegas. Still sitting on this cold one.

I still wake up, thinking I'm still talking to you.

I wake up in the morning calling some other bitch.

She sounds like you, just fucking like you.

They tell me I have more uses left in more, but no more fucking recovery.

He says they never thought that pretty little blonde dyke would end up in prison.

Never thought her girl would take her fall, but she did.

Now, she sits between the two of us, just chill, hanging out, till two AM, singing fucking oldies, playing our guitars, because we have nothing else to do.

The music plays to take away the pain, I read the letters that you use to write to wake my sorry ass up in the morning.

I wish I had something hang on to.

Another boy says I am strong willed today; this time I believe them.