gabriel st.

your hands in the air and
the knife through your heart and
those were some good goddamn times
beneath the slowly dying sun

always someone's messed up
girlfriend at the door

always just enough in the bag to
get you through the week

and the kid was asleep in another room
and maybe she was yours and
maybe she was his

maybe she would end up
torn in two

don't remember any of us ever
really caring enough to
stick around and find out