I started writing this the other night when i was drunk; i finished writing this morning hungover. I don't like it very much.

she sat in the back of my car
overheating
and singing counting crows
singing to jump off buildings
and she would like to take another shot

the graveyard is thirty feet over
and we wait to walk as the traffic slows
i bought the beer with a fake id
and the bars and shops closed

we sit alone
surrounded by bamboo stalks
and gravestones
in a corner completely shadowed from the moon
covered by a thin layer of midnight fog
staring into each other's eyes
and speaking of her past
i didn't care

how did i miss the point?
why have i come here tonight?
i should be the one talking
about my rehab
and my ex boyfriends
and my mother, what a slut
i should be the one
yet
i sit
i listen

caring isn't really a word
it isn't really in any dictionary
it is just in your head
coming from me i do not care
coming from your friends
they do not care

caring is felt in your mind
it is opening up
it is looking into somebody's eyes
and having them look back
even if they could give a shit