Contrition

I painted the walls with your name
and then burned the fucking house down.

The oceans aren't going to boil themselves,
and what are we going to do with all this salt?

Cake me, baby. I wanna repent for the pain.
I can't hurt you like he did, or does, or will --

it's so hard to keep track of your movements.
Why did I spend months splashing Seagrams

like holy water when you like the pain?
You could've just told me that. I can find

the right shade of grey if that's what you need.
Irony is not lost on me, and the definition

is not lost on you. Your new life is built
on top of the concept like a haunted house

on a burial site. Bury me or marry me,
I'm not what you need right now anyway.

You need a familiar ache, fangs that know
how to tear into a heart, eyes that can't stop

wandering, a mouth made for half-truths
and other peoples' lips. No,

I am not what you need right now.
You needed someone to call you

when you were lying next to me.
I could call you when you're lying

next to him. And you could give me a second
chance because I don't deserve one,

and that's how this all works, isn't it?