the stress and worry she'll never understand
The dead calm of the shallow rain
the tireless clock routine
a mute siren, drowning by the reef
My skin, ripping apart
under the sharp edge of your broken mirror
scarring a new tattoo with its jagged edges
painting her face in join the dots
of my blood spilled on the floor
The endless Mondays
and Tuesdays and Wednesdays
and Fridays and another fucking month gone by
Another evening at the coffee shop
vomiting in nostalgic bulimia
dragging my soul under traffic lights
with the heaviness of wet clothes
I miss driving to Leavenworth
just for the day
the cats (now dead)
show up every now and then
and I continue to swallow my words
trying to make them disappear
And it's elevators and stairs and songs and birds
as I keep looking for a grave
deep enough to bury my past
an ocean to drown this pain
it feels, I guess
like a lonely firefighter
crying in an empty church.
