I must have left my game face in my other pants pocket
Making excuses as you pull the sorrow from every tear crossing my lips
As I find myself unable to breathe with you that damn close
Mouth sending you off, eyes begging you to come closer gently
You become my personal clown, pulling every color from the sky
Harvesting them for you grand finale, sworn to make me laugh
Getting closer to me, laying upon my shoulder made for you
Gaining another tear with each one of your breaths
I wait silently for you to break the glass with your emergency hammer
Watching the familiar ways you move, counting the beats
And as you lie holding me close, asking if I'm alright
I wonder if the gun in my mouth told you yes or no.
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