Violet


You sit in your car along the coast,
windows down, smoking a menthol cigarette.
The people around you shout smile
and pretend they don't care.
But you can see,
only true happiness isn't so bleak.

Suddenly, the sky isn't so blue,
and everyone is waiting for the cue.
It's the rapture,
and everyone is melting away.
Except for you,
you stay in your car,
smoking your menthol cigarette.

If only you were born in a Catholic family,
one that believed in Christianity and not tragedies.

But you were conceived by an artist and a lawyer,
and now your wrist is broken and you're watching everyone in horror.
You should've known, though,
the way you always hated the snow.
Cookies always tasted so bitter,
and you always were a hitter.
You should've known,
heaven wasn't for you,
and now you know better.

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