To keep from capsizing, we drilled holes in the ship
Now I'm sketching your T-shirt and how it falls across
Your chest
I'm a sub-plot in this story and I'm winding down with my
Faults on repeat
We'll be better next year if we make it through this
Year
I'll be better next year. I won't make it through this
Year
I miss you like a metaphor for your coat missing your
Bedroom floor after eight weeks of winter
Or something like that