'cause there's a switch that gets hit, and it all stops making sense

I thought I was done writing and I'm not. I smoked a cigarette and my brain is still racing 10 miles per minute and I can't stop. My fingers can't even keep up with my thoughts.

I'm a poor decision on a minor holiday. I'm like that half-smoked cigarette you save for later because you don't have enough money to pay for another pack. I am a constant reminder of everything that I wish I never was.

You offer only one reply: you know not what you do
But you tear and tear your hair from roots
Of that same head you twice-removed
Now a lock of hair you said would prove our love would never die
Well, ha ha ha.

I remember everything--the words we spoke on freezing south street
And all those mornings watching you get ready for school
You combed your hair inside that mirror
The one you painted blue and glued with jewelry tears
Something 'bout those bright colors would always make you feel better

But now we spoke in ruined tongues
And the words we say aren't meant for anyone
It's just a mumbled sentence to a passing acquaintance
But there was once you

You said you hate my suffering
And you understood and you'd take care of me
you'd always be there
Well, where are you now?

Haleigh, haleigh, haleigh, haleigh
The plans were never finalized
But left to hang like yarn and twine
Dangling before my eyes

And now my thoughts are gone. One brief pause and I can't think anymore. That's why I write horrible poetry. I have all of these brilliant ideas when I have nowhere to store them, and then when they come out on paper they are half-hearted and not nearly as brilliant as they were in my mind.

I wish I was strong enough to end things.

I hate anxiety attacks.

Well I don't think I ever loved you more
Than when you turned away
When you slammed the door
When you stole the car and drove towards Mexico
And you wrote bad checks just to fill your arms
I was young enough, I still believed in war

Well let the poets cry themselves to sleep
And all their tearful words will turn back to steam

But me, I'm a single cell on the serpent's tongue
There's a muddy field where the garden was
And I'm glad you got away, but I'm still stuck out here
My clothes are soaking wet from your brother's tears

And I never thought this life was possible
You're the yellow bird that I've been waiting for.

The end of paralysis
I was a statuette
Now I'm drunk as hell on a piano bench
And when I press the keys it all gets reversed
The sound of loneliness makes me happier.