trying to keep ourselves from forgeting
who we were where were from
in an empty home we wake up screaming
"who's this person that I've become?"
knives stuck in our backs,
to ensure frustration
always pretending,
that were alone
I tie ribbons on every tree that
I walk by, to find my way home
but as trees turn to buildings, I feel smaller,
I'm too scared to face this on my own
april in Chicago,
that night that you died,
my head on your chest,
as you layed cold
we're still trying,
we're always trying
