Every Hour After Midnight Bites
Tried to drown your ghost in the neon,Barstool bruises, cheap whiskey’s cold kiss,Every joke from a stranger’s a weapon,Every laugh’s just another thing I miss.
They want me to flirt, to forget how you left,But the memory’s sharp in my drink,I dance with regret, my pockets are heavy,The night’s got a snarl, and I’m starting to sink.
Friends push me out on the floor,But my feet are nailed to the past,I smile like a fracture, I talk like a mask,No comfort in comfort, no peace that will last.
Your scent on my shirt, it burns like a dare,I’m chasing a taste of your name,This city keeps moving, I’m stuck in the glare,Of a world that don’t care that I’m not the same.
Every hour after midnight bites,Every shadow’s got your shape,I’m laughing with teeth, I’m losing these fights,Can’t outrun the mess we made.
This heartbreak don’t close at two,It just slips out the back with me,Every hour after midnight bites,There’s no cure in company.
Broken mirror, bruised reflection,Stall door closes on the man I used to be,Graffiti wisdom, scrawled rejection,“Don’t trust anyone who can’t bleed.”I stumble through rain on a city of wounds,Your goodbye howls in my chest,If someone new calls you baby tonight,Guess I’ll blame it on fate or bad luck or the rest.
The street is a sermon,The night’s a confession I’ll never give,Every old promise, every new lesson,Just teaches me how not to live.
Every hour after midnight bites,Every shadow’s got your shape,I’m laughing with teeth, I’m losing these fights,Can’t outrun the mess we made.
This heartbreak don’t close at two,It just slips out the back with me,Every hour after midnight bites,There’s no cure in company.
No fade out. No sweet wrap-up. Just the scrape of keys in the lock, and a hunger for a voice that won’t call.
No Flowers on This Grave
It’s the hour before sleep, and the ghost of you sharpens her teeth on the rim of my glass,Moonlight slants through blinds and dust motes, dissecting the silence into pieces I can count but never rearrange,You’re alive somewhere—across town, in another bed, maybe laughing at something I would have hated,And I am left embalmed in memories that refuse to settle, embalmed and waiting, the body twitching, the heart a gutted fish,I grieve you in the blue flicker of old texts, the way your name bubbles up when I try to swallow pride,I carry you—no, not you, the shape you left, the negative, the echo—on my back like a sack full of broken clocks,Each one stuck at the hour when you became a story told in the wrong tense,No eulogy, no funeral, just the drawn-out, needled ache of loving a living ghost.
I wish you’d died. There, I said it.I wish there was an ending I could kneel beside, a cold stone, a ritual, a reason for the heaviness,But you haunt like a fever that won’t peak, you call in the night in voices I can’t block or kill,Your toothbrush is still in the cup, and I can’t bring myself to throw it away, as if bristles remember lips or want,Your laughter lives in the walls, a parasite gnawing holes in the insulation,A splinter in every song, a shadow in the mirror, a bruise on my tongue when I try to talk about the weather,People tell me to move on—drink more, fuck more, forget—like your living is an inconvenience,Like you didn’t take half my words and all my reasons when you left.
I’m not allowed to mourn you, not the way they let me mourn a coffin or a car crash,There’s no casserole or condolence for a heart that’s lost to distance, only the shallow grave of “get over it” and “find someone else,”But I keep you anyway, hidden beneath rib and sinew, a whisper that burns more than screams,I pretend I’m over it—what a joke—when your name punches through my teeth every time I try to say goodbye,I count your living as a wound that refuses to close, a wound that festers with hope and old film reels,You are the death that never finishes dying, the patient in a bed that isn’t mine, the door that never slams,And I go to sleep holding your ghost, begging for the mercy of a funeral that’ll never come,Grieving you, night after night, while you keep breathing somewhere that isn’t here,Alive, but not for me.
No Flowers on This Grave
It’s the half-lit hour, and your ghost sips my whiskey,You’re laughing somewhere under different neon,My bed’s a coffin for the memory of what you kissed,Your scent is a stain that nothing scrubs clean,I keep your mug in the cupboard, the one you left behind,Just to torture myself, just to remember you’re not mine,Every story about you gets stuck in my throat,And I drink you down like poison—sweet, slow, and burning.
Friends say let it go, “you’ll meet someone better,”But nobody tells you how to bury a heartbeat that refuses to die,There’s no headstone for a love still walking,No closure, no grave, just rooms with your echo,I want to hate you for surviving, for finding the sunrise,While I’m sleepless, stuck, carving your name into the night,You text sometimes, little daggers I bleed for,Just enough to remind me, I’ll never be cured.
No flowers on this grave,No prayers, no peace, just endless days,I’m mourning the living, I’m loving the dead,Still digging through ashes for words never said,You left me haunted, left me raw,I grieve in the shadow of everything we were.
I keep a smile for the people who ask,Pretend I’m fine with my half-empty glass,But your ghost drips slow from the cracks in the ceiling,And grief bites down, never giving up feeling,Wish I could burn it, wish I could run,But you’re written in the marrow, and marrow doesn’t forget,You are the wound that will never scab over,The death that won’t end, and the love that won’t sober.
There’s no funeral for a lover gone breathing,No black suits or hymns, just endless repeating,Just me and your shadow, and every mistake,Haunted by the living—how much more can I take?
No flowers on this grave,No prayers, no peace, just endless days,I’m mourning the living, I’m loving the dead,Still digging through ashes for words never said,You left me haunted, left me raw,I grieve in the shadow of everything we were.
Tried to drown your ghost in the neon,Barstool bruises, cheap whiskey’s cold kiss,Every joke from a stranger’s a weapon,Every laugh’s just another thing I miss.
They want me to flirt, to forget how you left,But the memory’s sharp in my drink,I dance with regret, my pockets are heavy,The night’s got a snarl, and I’m starting to sink.
Friends push me out on the floor,But my feet are nailed to the past,I smile like a fracture, I talk like a mask,No comfort in comfort, no peace that will last.
Your scent on my shirt, it burns like a dare,I’m chasing a taste of your name,This city keeps moving, I’m stuck in the glare,Of a world that don’t care that I’m not the same.
Every hour after midnight bites,Every shadow’s got your shape,I’m laughing with teeth, I’m losing these fights,Can’t outrun the mess we made.
This heartbreak don’t close at two,It just slips out the back with me,Every hour after midnight bites,There’s no cure in company.
Broken mirror, bruised reflection,Stall door closes on the man I used to be,Graffiti wisdom, scrawled rejection,“Don’t trust anyone who can’t bleed.”I stumble through rain on a city of wounds,Your goodbye howls in my chest,If someone new calls you baby tonight,Guess I’ll blame it on fate or bad luck or the rest.
The street is a sermon,The night’s a confession I’ll never give,Every old promise, every new lesson,Just teaches me how not to live.
Every hour after midnight bites,Every shadow’s got your shape,I’m laughing with teeth, I’m losing these fights,Can’t outrun the mess we made.
This heartbreak don’t close at two,It just slips out the back with me,Every hour after midnight bites,There’s no cure in company.
No fade out. No sweet wrap-up. Just the scrape of keys in the lock, and a hunger for a voice that won’t call.
No Flowers on This Grave
It’s the hour before sleep, and the ghost of you sharpens her teeth on the rim of my glass,Moonlight slants through blinds and dust motes, dissecting the silence into pieces I can count but never rearrange,You’re alive somewhere—across town, in another bed, maybe laughing at something I would have hated,And I am left embalmed in memories that refuse to settle, embalmed and waiting, the body twitching, the heart a gutted fish,I grieve you in the blue flicker of old texts, the way your name bubbles up when I try to swallow pride,I carry you—no, not you, the shape you left, the negative, the echo—on my back like a sack full of broken clocks,Each one stuck at the hour when you became a story told in the wrong tense,No eulogy, no funeral, just the drawn-out, needled ache of loving a living ghost.
I wish you’d died. There, I said it.I wish there was an ending I could kneel beside, a cold stone, a ritual, a reason for the heaviness,But you haunt like a fever that won’t peak, you call in the night in voices I can’t block or kill,Your toothbrush is still in the cup, and I can’t bring myself to throw it away, as if bristles remember lips or want,Your laughter lives in the walls, a parasite gnawing holes in the insulation,A splinter in every song, a shadow in the mirror, a bruise on my tongue when I try to talk about the weather,People tell me to move on—drink more, fuck more, forget—like your living is an inconvenience,Like you didn’t take half my words and all my reasons when you left.
I’m not allowed to mourn you, not the way they let me mourn a coffin or a car crash,There’s no casserole or condolence for a heart that’s lost to distance, only the shallow grave of “get over it” and “find someone else,”But I keep you anyway, hidden beneath rib and sinew, a whisper that burns more than screams,I pretend I’m over it—what a joke—when your name punches through my teeth every time I try to say goodbye,I count your living as a wound that refuses to close, a wound that festers with hope and old film reels,You are the death that never finishes dying, the patient in a bed that isn’t mine, the door that never slams,And I go to sleep holding your ghost, begging for the mercy of a funeral that’ll never come,Grieving you, night after night, while you keep breathing somewhere that isn’t here,Alive, but not for me.
No Flowers on This Grave
It’s the half-lit hour, and your ghost sips my whiskey,You’re laughing somewhere under different neon,My bed’s a coffin for the memory of what you kissed,Your scent is a stain that nothing scrubs clean,I keep your mug in the cupboard, the one you left behind,Just to torture myself, just to remember you’re not mine,Every story about you gets stuck in my throat,And I drink you down like poison—sweet, slow, and burning.
Friends say let it go, “you’ll meet someone better,”But nobody tells you how to bury a heartbeat that refuses to die,There’s no headstone for a love still walking,No closure, no grave, just rooms with your echo,I want to hate you for surviving, for finding the sunrise,While I’m sleepless, stuck, carving your name into the night,You text sometimes, little daggers I bleed for,Just enough to remind me, I’ll never be cured.
No flowers on this grave,No prayers, no peace, just endless days,I’m mourning the living, I’m loving the dead,Still digging through ashes for words never said,You left me haunted, left me raw,I grieve in the shadow of everything we were.
I keep a smile for the people who ask,Pretend I’m fine with my half-empty glass,But your ghost drips slow from the cracks in the ceiling,And grief bites down, never giving up feeling,Wish I could burn it, wish I could run,But you’re written in the marrow, and marrow doesn’t forget,You are the wound that will never scab over,The death that won’t end, and the love that won’t sober.
There’s no funeral for a lover gone breathing,No black suits or hymns, just endless repeating,Just me and your shadow, and every mistake,Haunted by the living—how much more can I take?
No flowers on this grave,No prayers, no peace, just endless days,I’m mourning the living, I’m loving the dead,Still digging through ashes for words never said,You left me haunted, left me raw,I grieve in the shadow of everything we were.