Everything's Dead

This lump in my stomach isn't going away
The onion I'm peeling is my own existence and I'm tired of coming up short with tears in my indispensable eyes
The narrative got changed while bullets were flying over our heads and you washed your panda slippers for the millionth time

I know we can't go back to the beginning and what would even be the point?
Before I came out to Middleburg Heights and we ate turkey and corned beef sandwiches
The library was a bust and so was the poor bird that got squished, but putting my hand on your thigh and you later telling me how it made your pussy throb will continue to replay in my Sodom and Gomorrah mind until the end of time

Everything's dead or at least on life support and maybe that's for the best, at least until she figures out what she wants and what she wants to do with my cadaver
We were in a corn field. Just me, you and the car that drove us into this mess because I fell asleep at the wheel and thankfully woke up before we hit the culvert
I've never been all that great at following through, but I swear someday I'll put away childish things and accept the death sentence of being a grown up

I hear trucks pass by as you sleep and I imagine them bringing you samples because you deserve only the best as all of this uncertainty goes by the wayside like roadkill or organic vegetables
Seeing how we're putting all of our cards on the table I told her I was falling in love and thankfully she didn't hang up the phone or run from the room with her hair on fire
Everything's dead and that's okay because I believe in the Lazarus effect, meaning that the raising of the dead is more than possible in these days of box wine and roses disguised as Hershey's Kisses