The first thing you forget about somebody when they're gone is their voice;
You can remember their face, and the way they move,
but you can't hold on to the way they sound.
I'll never forget how your voice resonated in my ears,
and I hope that one day I can forget.
I hope that I can forget the way your voice sounds
like nails on a chalk board in my mind,
scratching away at my memories of how love is supposed to be
and how you loved the way my name rolled off of your tongue.
One day I hope I wake up with amnesia,
and be freed from the way you made me feel
like I couldn't get out of bed every morning.
I hope I can forget the way you made me feel untouchable.
Untouchable in the way you made me feel
like a piece of property being sold at some sex slave auction.
You made me spit poison at the most beautiful people and
you make me cringe at the world as if I was living in your nightmare.
Your nightmare, your nightmare;
it made me suffocate under the weight of my own chest.
Rising and falling crashing and burning.
My lungs were just connected bridges Imploding in your explosions;
planting explosives in all of my crevices
linked and linked driving down like the force in your car.
I hope that I wake up with amnesia and pray
that you'll be trapped and trapped in those three grey walls.
Trapped and trapped, oh how you're trapped in my mind.
You were an unwanted intruder;
smashing and smashing all of my prized possessions
filled back in the filling cabinets in the back of my mind.
Oh, how I hope I wake up and replace
all my possessed possessions with amnesia.
Amnesia that I've never wanted so bad.
I've never wanted to forget something so bad.
I crave your amnesia like an addict craves a pen when he is writing, writing.
When he is writing he forgets the world,
a world where you or your voice never existed.
Existing in existence is the last thing I want to do
when you're the thing that pulls me down into the waves
that are drowning me in the tides
that you call unto me to show how destructive I can be.
They say violence isn't a side affect of sadness, but a side affect from loneliness,
and I've never felt any lonelier.
Is it my fault, my fault?
It's my fault that I'm drowning and there's no way out.
And it's my fault that I want to rip my skin away from my bones
hopping that you would flow out and amnesia would flow in.
It was your voice who told me to pick up that blade,
but It was his who told me to put it back down.
He was my amnesia that I craved and
you were no better than the rust on my razor blades.
Time and time again my memory's would pry up
like a young child lifting up the edge of the rug to see if
anything was deep underneath.
In the deep of the unconscious conscious
your nightmares would find their way back to me.
I'd plead for oblivion it's inevitability,
but the only thing that is inevitable is the way
that I'm certain that I could never forget you
and in the mix of it all you made me a better, stronger person.
So for that, I have to thank you
