Like Angles on The Verge of Suicide

the dust clears off the box full of hopeless memories. the master lock looks old and rusted. i should've burned this box along with all the others. forgetting you has been the hardest part. and i'm not sure i wish to remember at all. like angels on the verge of suicide, i turn my head and shed a tear; and fall for what seems like a thousand miles. until i hit the cold cement floor beside your feet. dont pick me up because my brittle bones cant withstand another touch from your hands. i'll get up on my own and i'll burn this box. the fire will look good glistening off the curves of your face.