The Tragic Life of Caleb

I don’t got smokes and I don’t got matches

This, the picture of me, caught in your eyelashes

I have no home that I know

Would you like to take me in?

There is a feeling you get when you think it’s too much

It’s just a feeling you get that you’re holding in your clutches

I’m sorry for the misinterpretation

My fear is more than hesitation

I am sorry about the dress and the wine

The suit and the tie I can return

Is this because I am lazy, and that I don’t want to work this hard?

It’s just I’m scared of being bored with you.

When I die, Caleb

What happens to the air I breathe?

What happens to my hopes?

What will happen to my dreams?

Your body is a strange machine:

You get angry; you get mean

Sometimes I think that I’d like to see

You choke and fight to breathe

I am sorry about the cake and champagne

To the guests to whom we explained this all

Is it because I’m worried that everything stops here?

Our lives and hearts, then tears that fall

When I die, Caleb

What happens to the air I breathe?

What happens to my hopes?

What will happen to my dreams?

When I die, Caleb

What happens to the air I breathe?

What happens to the times I said I was sorry?

What happens to my hopes?

What will happen to my dreams?

What happens to the years I’ve lived?

What will happen to your memories of me?

©2011 Megan Slankard