we're an odd band of misfits, not much else to say

an unlikely bunch, but who would've thought

who could have predicted it would end like this?

the smoker, the liar, the drinker, the cutter

gathered around a freshly dug grave


like a poorly oiled machine, we ran just fine

fought to keep each other alive through it all

the happy moments, the sorrowful, the simple, the dangerous

laughter echoed through the air, smiles shone through the shadows cast on our little group

like fractured bone each small, seemingly insignificant injury made room for new strength

but scars pile up and soon make themselves impossible to ignore


laughs became forced, smiles became artificial

exasperation hung over us like smoke in a crowded room

the familiar feeling of comfort lost its familiarity

desire for repair was nowhere to be found

so we sat, each of us a ticking time bomb

just waiting for the day when the eyes would close for good


now we stand around a freshly dug grave

the smoker, the liar, the drinker, the cutter

to bury the past and all that we knew

a painful task, but after all

we were an odd band of misfits

an unlikely bunch


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