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Cerce
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Ides of March
i'm eternally prone to get caught up in cold blood
but in these and foyers and corridors and bedrooms,
it doesn't feel quite the same.
we'll never call each other anything.
we're bitter kids and we hate our names
but I'll continue to break my legs
for a whole lot of nothing
I'll be a muse: nothing less and nothing more.
another state is calling your name but there's nowhere calling mine
and that's just fine.
you look at me like a piece of paper ripped out of your notebook.
you write me down like a scripture
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you let me down like a scripture.
there won't be any photographs to prove that we existed together.
i'll keep a secret
i'll be a secret.
for a whole of lot of nothing we sure are something.
for a whole of lot of something we sure are nothing.
I can linger and confuse myself forever if you want or ask me to,
but before you decide to leave for good, I must ask:
what happens if i disappear first?
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