04. GraveParty
And you ask me:
“Do you still coat all your problems in codeine syrup?”
“Are you still plagued by the thoughts of me that no medicine can cure?”
Then you ask me if I’m sorry, even if you already have my answer.
Then you tell me “I hope you’re lonely until the day that I dance on your grave.”

A double edged sword, clutched to my chest,
In the shape of a tab of morphine.
The killers, they roam in my bloodstream,
Hunting for pain that is non existent.

And there’s snow lined up by the window,
But it will not melt in the heat of August.

The scent of baked goods, reminiscent of your kitchen,
Misplaced in this concrete basement.

I inhale,
In through my nose and out through my mouth are words I could never say.

“I’m sorry.”


And you ask me:
“Do you still coat all your problems in codeine syrup?”
“Are you still plagued by the thoughts of me that no medicine can cure?”
Then you ask me if I’m sorry, even if you already have my answer.
Then you tell me “I hope you’re lonely until the day that I dance on your grave.”

“I will dance on your grave”


“Did you take your meds this morning?”

04 GraveParty

Kill Joy