Still from The River. by Poor Duncan

The ceiling fan pushes the air,
back into the bed we used to share.
And I sing, the songs I wrote for you.
And you are, doing anything but listening,
waiting for your cue to close your eyes.

When I sleep, all I can see is you,
and that man, waiting for me to leave the house.
I tried to, forgive what you have done.
There's no sense in both of us breaking our vows.
Somethings can't be fixed, when they're broken.

I'll try to be rational one,
with my hands around your throat,
squeezing as hard as I love you.
You should have known,
that I am not afraid, to do what must be done.

Through sickness, and my health,
you ran to him.
While I just lay quietly still.
Now you, will lay there,
pleading,
until you are quietly still.

• Acoustic
• acoustic guitar
• guitar
• indie rock
• sadcore
• singer-songwriter
• Cleveland