ammunition

i’m placing all my weapons in the empty room next door,
loaded with ammunition that will strike you at the core
of this perfect little family that you’ve worked so hard to make,
but perfection only happens when it’s fake.

and it could be a placebo, or a drama, or just vain,
but i think this battlefield keeps me a little bit more sane,
and i wish i could have seen your face as you walked into that room,
reminded that the end is coming soon.

does that frighten you, my dear?  does it serve to remind
that after almost eighteen years it’s almost out of mind?
and does all that we used to have keep you up at night,
that after almost eighteen years i’m almost out of sight?

you only have twelve days left but i doubt you’ll make amends,
or even try to come to terms with what you did back then.
i’m placing all my boxes in the empty room next door.
you decided that this would be war.

the emptier this room becomes, the quieter it gets.
it faintly whispers promises that you may well regret
if you took a minute to consider why this came to pass—
the getaway that i have found at last.

does that frighten you, my dear?  does it serve to remind
that after almost eighteen years it’s almost out of mind?
and does all that we used to have keep you up at night,
that after almost eighteen years i’m almost out of sight?

and i’ll leave you some memories in case you want to feel
like i’m still living here with you—that weapons aren’t real.
but i think i’ve found my time to shine and leave you to destroy
everything else that ever brought you joy.

and i’m all locked and loaded now, while you’re in disbelief
of how you can have so much stress while i have found relief.
i think i found the perfection you’d tried so hard to make,
the kind with ups and downs that you can’t fake.
and i’ve got all my boxes out—i’m going, going, gone,
from the one place that you’ve feared most all along.