…you were my detail, my inner circumstance.

You are a phone call at 4 am
the kind I pull the blankets over my head to ignore.
I miss you so much that I want nothing to do with you.

When I hear your voice that late at night I can feel the skeletons in my closet sticking their bony fingers out from underneath the door trying to grab at me.
I hate you sometimes, for making me do this on my own,
and I’m sorry that I don’t answer the phone but I’m too busy bashing my head against the receiver trying not to say anything too terrible.
I’d tell you I love you, but I’m afraid it’s gotten more complicated than that.
I’d tell you to go away, but you already have.

Only we two are one, not you and night,

Nor night and I, but you and I, alone,
So much alone, so deeply by ourselves,
So far beyond the casual solitudes,

That night is only the background of our selves,
Supremely true each to its separate self,
In the pale light that each upon the other throws.

if you can love me at my ugliest
and i do mean my ugliest
i mean my shameless, angry, loud,
unafraid, everywhere ugliest
if you can still wake up in the morning
and forgive me
then i will go with you anywhere
i will carry you out of
every burning building
every broken church
every bleached white hospital room
i will stand in the middle of the street on fire
i will die with my hand in your hand
and when i reach the gates of heaven
i will tell god that i have been saved twice
that grace has your name
and wears your face
I. I was the first person to teach you that love was not always a white light to a ship lost at sea.

II. On my worst days, the sky was a festering wound that wouldn’t heal. I didn’t want to be that to you.

III. On my worst days, you were the only word I could say without clenching my fists.

IV. I really did love you, I just couldn’t claw my way out of the ground to do it properly.

V. None of this was your fault.

VI. I’m sorry I was your lighthouse. I’m sorry you couldn’t see the wall of rocks on my shore.

have some fancy as fuck cute french names because it just clicked with me that given new verse (even though it no longer exists because i REFUSE) france is probably presleigh’s dream locale and also their pretend Secret Garden and pres probably learned lots of french while he was gone that he taught her and they probably have gone on trips together there now and yeah goodbye i think maybe this is the way we should go 

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Title: Biloxi Parish

Artist: The Gaslight Anthem

Played: 571 times