top of page
your eyes changed from a nameless paint
toward a cloudy broken mirror state
that no one seems to clear away
the rage inside lingers to stay
your body’s now a tattered feather
without a blowing wind to weather
you’re falling soon be crawling down
a shoddy wooden black staircase
into some cobbled alley place
with the boiling metal spoon you hide
that plagues your blue-red lines inside
i’m bawling soon be calling in
from angel town to any town
the nine one one that waits around
like the 45 that just keeps skipping
i’m here to hold you close again
like the 45 you just keep loading
i’ll listen to you shout, but then
i’m here not to save you
i’m here but to love you
bottom of page