Like

He’s nothing like the last one right?
Not all dolled up potential
not all future looks bright
present is just something we gotta stick through
nothing like that.

And when you do that one piece
about the woman,
who keeps a closet full of corpses of men,
who do not fit,
you never see his body bag.

Never cut it open
straight down the middle so you can
stare at those black tar lungs
as they whisper empty promises about how he’s gunna quit one day
and you just gotta hang around long enough till that day comes
cuz you don’t wanna miss out on another good one
cuz this is what the good ones look like these days
they’re all full of smoke,
and you’re all, stuck in the mirror
trying to decipher which reflection rings true.