Kiss me on the forehead,   angel, before I go to sleep.    I can't remember if it's Thursday or December.    I've been keeping track of days   by counting hangovers    and bottles on my floor.   My mangled memory is making me    mistake misfortune for forgiveness.   I don't think I'll make it out alive.   So promise me that    you'll survive to bury me.   Just empty all the alcohol   and chronicle the chemicals,    but don't forget the cigarettes.   Remember every ember.    Alright, I admit that past   few months were broken and abused.    Now I'm used to the bleeding   and unspoken words    that kept me so confused.    Maybe we can get past these addictions,    but the bodies piling up    are a whole other story    unless your stomach's strong enough.   Hell, maybe we can just pretend   that this recovery,    won't depend on moderation   and in the end the same routine    won't leave me dead.    Just empty all the alcohol...or baby, we're dead.    Tomorrow we'll wake up in time    to stop this double suicide    through kisses laced with cyanide   and one last look through blood shot eyes.    I guess this is what they call    killing yourself in small doses