20061114
2200
The crackle of my speakers
like all those Christmas ornaments
popping under my bare feet,
blood and cuts are the lyrics.
I'm in need of water,
to stop my throat from lighting up,
this manner of speech is too heated -
you're back in that spot on my bed.
Hands and flailing and arms
and kids making promises
and sealing them with messy
exchanges of diseases.
I'm just going to turn the
white noise up and let
my eyes droop to sleep,
can't get the glass off my feet.
0 something something somethings
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