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