Phone

My phone is empty every morning like I’m just a memory

Collectively shared by my friends on the other end of the country

Every day is just a bad re run

And I’m just no fun

I’m still feeling blue

But I guess that’s what I’m used to

You don’t pick up at all

I’m sick to my stomach and hollowed

My sister said there’s always a way out

A hole in every plan that you might not want to patch up

And I’m still thinking about you

But I guess that’s what I’m used to

You don’t pick up at all

I’m sick to my stomach and hollowed

And I felt the strain

In the metal of my bed frame

I’m still thinking about you

But I guess that’s what I’m used to