I wrap my tired arms around your closed off flesh.
Tried to beat into you - I love you, I love!
You just shake it off, wipe it clean.
then store it all in shoe boxes full of laces and letters made up of
razor blade apples and cyanide.
GOD DAMN this living. God damn it all!
I can see the end so clear I don’t know why you can’t see it too,
there’s so much of everything and everything is about you.
It feels like cigarette burns on the back of my hand while I suck on candy coated meth balls to mask the pain.
Jet fuel and ashes cover the earth from the day of your birth so I just can’t see what all the fuss is about.
This living?
if I seem unhappy it’s because of the dress,.. the dance.
There’s only escape in shadow and dust, kick off the bed sheets and roll in the crush of this 4 star travelling day dream peep show, the playgrounds are on fire and the stores are closed on Thursdays.
Just an average night in the life of a muse, the shallow rise and fall of the battered and broken make me feel so alive,
