"Don't come home at all"
the last word that you said,
they're still burning in my head.
And the hurt that I felt,
Twenty shots, they didn't help.
Only left my throat burning
and for you still yearning.
Clothes laying on the floor
as I burst through the door,
the picture burning in my head
like your cigarette by the bed.
If I can't have you, no one can.
Smash some bottles on the wall,
break the windows on your car,
strike a match---fuck it all.
It's still burning.