Orange Midnight

But it sounds like me, doesn't it?

My voice, bleached bright yellow or orange

Will still vibrate the same wont it?

I'm afraid, dear, I won't miss myself once I've wandered off again.

I can't miss you either for I've forgotten your name again.

I think it tastes a bit like whiskey.

Or maybe just feels a bit like a hangover.

But between 17 and 18 I learned it'll hurt less when someone dies if you never knew them.

I swore you were hers and hers and hers so when you left me alone, in my head, I couldn't remember you even lived there.