how many nights has it been
since i last cried over you?
how many moons have come
since I last thought about you?
when the sun stops rising
and when the waves stop crashing
that's when I'll get you out of my head. properly, at least.
getting you out
and letting you out
are two very different matters.
getting implies that I want you to go
letting implies that I need you to go.
getting or letting,
pack your bags and leave this little head of mine
you're fucking up my brain.
I need this brain
to carry me through
but it can't help me
if you're ripping holes into it
always, always drilling
the walls of my little brain.
I need you to get out of here
sooner, rather that later
you're hammering my brain
and turning on all my taps
and setting fire to my insides
and lacing yourself through my veins
and I want you out.
if you're working so hard
at shattering my brain
you are trying to get out
you're not here to damage me
instead of that
you're hurt yourself,
trapped in here
for who knows how long?
for how much longer?
when will this demolition end?
years? months? hours?
hurry along with this demolition
so you can finally
exit my little brain
and leave me to deal with the pieces you've left it in.
it's not your fault you're in here, after all
it's only fair that you injure my head
for I've injured you, by keeping you here for so long.
letting and getting are two very different matters
but when the stars stop shining,
that's when I'll really want you gone.