the blackbird of unhappiness
lays dead on my feet,
shot with lithium
and other feelgood drugs.
it’s written like a habit
all over your face.
your tunes ride on
the ties that bind
so inspired by crime that
kylie had to die
for nick to hit the mainstream.
i love you like coffee,
you make me so edgy.
you caught me maintaining
my secrets on a leash,
wearing your songs
like wet socks on a dismal day
(ringo starr in the minor key).
because you can feign sadness,
but you can’t pretend togetherness.
so tell me i’m beautiful again
while i play morrissey music
till there is no tomorrow
just you
and me
and his words
killing me softly with a blunt object.
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