it was torture and i still wanted to be your story
i wanted to give myself just one happy ending
but in a sequence of events that included the blind
leading the dead, i pulled myself into the hell
that was left behind
i gave my hand to the fire but the devil said
i was one deal short
and he sent me back here with a bottle
of xanax and a promise for a happy ending
and says if i'll have no fear then i'll have no life
outside this box where i keep old pictures
of the day we posed and we felt so in love
like we were supposed to
and if i ever find a place that feels warm
and if i ever find a mind that brings me back
to when i was a child looking out those windows
that gave me all the pictures i'd ever need
i wouldn't have the fucking heart
to give it a first thought and if ignorance
were art it would be on my wall
a billion miles from whatever 'home'
you supposed i should stay-
a stationary fall where you'd scrape
your knees but the blood stains
evaporate while you sleep
and take your pains into
some freudian landscape
that van gogh had painted
a hundred times before
and your dreams are on
everyone's walls and you're swearing
they're all a fake
and inside my door i catch my breath
and i take my time on the way down
to this cold wooden floor
and if the windows are taking in
more scenery then it's lost on me,
fallen stationary, i think luck has no aim
and fate is a frost on the glass
i melt with my fingertips only to find
that absence is evaporation
and the bottom is a blank slate
with a mess of faded chalk lines
like math equations for free verse
and chemical formulas in my brain
manipulating my thoughts
with a bath of raw emotions
and bloodthirsty love is a dragon
and from the floor everybody fails