and when nothing reminds you of what you had,
except some letters and a few photographs.
you take that box that necklace was in,
that you gave to her cos she was your best friend.
you think of flowers you should have bought,
but regret makes you sick at the thought.
that no matter what you could have done,
it would have died the same.

so you take that old box,
and fill it up.
with the same blood that used to,
jump at the thought that she was near.

the same old blood that now only feels,
this sickle cell therapy that only kills.
and you find yourself standing still,
staring at nothing against your will.
so you beg and kneel and pray for this,
to go away, to be dismissed.

so you take that old box,
and fill it up.
with the same blood that used to,
jump at the thought..

and when nothing reminds me of what i had,
except your letters and photographs.
i take that box that necklace was in,
that i gave to you cos you were my best friend.
i think of flowers i should have bought,
but regret makes me sick to know.
that no matter everything i did,
it died the same.

so i take that old box,
and i fill it up.
with the same blood that used to jump,
at that thought that you were here.

this same sickle cell therapy

and when i find myself standing still,
staring at you picture against my will.