There’s a ghost in the hallway, sleeping past the door And the ghost has your face from 20 years before. We locked the world outside, turned down the central heat, Drying off in the dark, skin against the sheet. I could count the track marks and scars mapped from your arm to your chest— A city line we drew before we knew the rest. And I am terrified of time, terrified of grace, Terrified of every single line upon your face. So lay your head on my shoulder & your hair across my collarbone. If this isn’t salvation, well fuck!, it’s the closest thing I’ve ever known. We’re the kids who came from the '89 We’re just lucky to be alive. Rubbing your shoulders, whiskey in the glass, Watching all the golden years wither in the grass. I spent a lifetime singing about how I would die alone, Now I’m sinking in this mattress, built inside a home. You whisper through the dark, your fingers on my chin: "To write love on her arms, kiss you where the hurt starts and the scars begin.” So lay your wet hair flat against my collarbone. If this isn’t salvation, it’s the closest thing I’ve known. We’re not the kids who ran through 1995— We’re just two aging bodies lucky to be alive. With our mistakes fast asleep!, reminding us of the trouble that we could. I never was a saint, I never said I was good! I spent a decade screaming out at empty sky, Trying to find a reason why we all die! But I don’t need the answers, I don't need the proof— I just need your weight on me under this falling roof! I map every soft place, every jagged scar, This love is a weapon... it's the only thing we are! Keep the anchor tied. There is no escape from the water outside. Hold your breath, close your eyes, feel the pulse in your wrist... It’s a miracle we made it out of the mist. For these evil, the devil puts us on her list. kiss kiss
