Sometimes I feel too close to Heaven
Too close to touching you
it burns my fingertips
Jams them hard into the concrete
It would be wise I suppose
to stop talking,writing
wise to walk those gallow steps
Sail those seven seas
The back of my skull plays those memories
Like private movie screenings
With the faint smell of your ghost in the empty seat next to mine
I choke on popcorn
and you say something cruel everytime we speak
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