If you
Stabbed me in the chest
With a kitchen knife
And I dripped
"Fuck you"
From my lips
You would not speak to me for three days
You would say "nah, fuck me, right?"
And look right past me
And at my funeral
You would say I was really pretty mean
Then you'd need another three days
To recover from the sound
Of other people crying
And maybe three days after that
You'd have a reasonable excuse
To say things like "fuck you"
Because
Of course
You'd be "griev ing."
