i'm crazy. i own it.

The list of things i used to be is longer than the list of things i am;
ex-lover, ex-friend...
ex-communicated athiest, ex-patriot.

She's a latter day saint, but she's a Saturday sinner
Suicide-Sunday dessert
On weekends drinking your dinner.
The worry keeps her slender, the coffee keeps her awake.
Her man makes her happy but can't help to still the shake.

More than slack rope, more than sunstroke...rum soaked and sad jokes at rap shows.
Open doors that have been slammed shut, locked with the same key that i used to lock up my heart. Congratulations to the dry eyes, consolations to the nice guys.
Just another raffle prize, a cheap little thing wrapped up in a pretty bow.
Take me home.

Wake up and forget the past, every tear and failed attempt at saying the right things at the right time.
Move on, with a smile poorly drawn.

I'll always be silver medal, your unlucky raffle ticket that might win something; someday.
Auction off my heart, bids starting at the low low price of one broken ego.