cross your heart and hope to, baby,
good things always end badly.
Heard that you wrote about her today, again,
heard it was the last thing that you ever did.
Heard that you put that gun to your head
cocked and pulled it, at the crack of seven a.m
because you knew that was her favorite number.
And she's wishing that she would have loved you better
And praying to God that you'll be back in a moment yelling, "April fools!"
And she's not letting them bury you yet,
because she's going back and reading you every poem
that ever had anything to do with you
ev.er.y. lie she ever told.
And she's painting hernails your favorite color
and febreezing the room in your favorite scent
and she's bought new waterproof mascara
because the tears are not yet spent.
And she curses the sky for being so clear
And she curses the school for moving on,
And she damns the radio for playing
anything but your favorite songs.
And baby, she loved you
She just never showed it right.
If there's one regret she'll never get over
It's that she wasn't there that night.
It's that she forgot to call you because of that
Dom Pérignon (and the extra shot
of Jack Daniels.)
And when she finally lets you lay in your grave,
she's two seconds away from climbing in
and compensating for that last night
she didn't spend with you.
Instead she scatters notes in your coffin
filled with endless iloveyou's in every way she knows how.
She doesn't call back the friends that she was with that night
And she tosses out of the liquor,
drinks herbal teas instead.
And it's going to be a long time before she goes out past midnight again,
a long time before she watches television
for fear of seeing your favorite shows.
Baby, you left her with lengthy years to be consumed with sorrow
and pictures to lay-face down.
Baby, you left her shallow,
gray skinned and glass-eyed,
plastic features with stiff motions.
Turned her into the best good girl
death could guarantee.