I can still smell your perfume
It's giving me a headache
Its noxious and robust
Like my off pace heart
It's just this weird apex
I am my body's reject
I am the foreman in my own case
We find me guilty, guilty

SSRI is four pretty letters
But you and I sound much better
That's a Wilco song I used to write off
But now I'm writing from its point of view

And I wonder if I stack up.
I will wonder if I stack up.
There is no greater joy than
Accepting potential failure
Mrs Drake, I am not a poet
I am only an old soul cause I think I am
I am a fault line hidden in felt lines
Soft, bitter and broken.

I am breaking and you are broken
We are saving our best selves for the weekends
When we don't have to look at strangers
When we will hopefully be with each other

We will hopefully be with each other
We will hopefully be with each other
We will hopefully be with each other
Until there's nothing left