I'm laying on this couch in the dark.
You've seen so much more than me.
I wonder if you saw the beginnings of that pretty baby in the other room, or if mom and dad entered beside the kitchen sink.
Or on the floor.
Hardwood floor.
Like that image of him in my head.
In the fetal position and I'm helping him.
Like me, except he wished I was dead.
So you know those old nostalgic memories?
The ones stuck in my lobes?
Yeah, those.
They don't happen anymore.
They died too.
The probably died on that hardwood floor, all curled up, moaning beside you.
A lot of things died that day.
Like my respect, like my regret, like my pride;
They all died.
A need for a repeat button was born and aborted.
I'm gonna thank you two for that.
Sometimes I can still smell you.
The way you smelt that night.
Oh wait, one more thing:
Your friend was supposed to die.
So here we lay, all alone,
But beside each other.
At night.
Ask me about plastic bags.
My answer will make you cry.
Because the truth is the truth
We are who we are
Whether we are using immorality for warmth,
Or we're laying on a couch in the dark.
