Priority Mail

It seems to me that the hairs on my neck
stand up anytime that I get close to your coffin.
I know I've spelt what you felt until it seeped in.

But the look on your face kills me until I cant breathe, I'll breathe in.

It seems to me that the tint in your eyes
speaks more words than any other time.
I've tried so hard to dig my nails into your soul.
I grew em out so far, now they grow into my bones, and now they dig into my soul.