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Around the bed frame hollow cansand rings from coffee cups line the pages on the deskmonday spent mourning the sunwhile taste still lingers from something lost along the wayand you're the worstat what you love the bestand up till now:an experimentaround the staircase pools of dried bloodsinging you to sleepthe dishes will know to do themselves |
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I can't remember places but |
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I do recall the nameof something lost along the wayand we used to know where we all would go when where goneand whispers of doubt that escaped our mouth carried homeand as the night kept our parents in bed we burned new york to the groundand we used to know where we all would go when were gone |
