Sour milk curdling at the corners of my mouth.
Was it necessary for you to think
That I need you to live vicariously through?
I’ll spit it out and wipe it away,
But a crust will form and it’ll grow more and more
I’ll wipe you clean and put you away,
Numb myself to your cheerful razors.
Still bitter, always bitter.
But maybe I just miss you.