Closed on Thursdays

I wrap my tired arms around your closed off flesh. Tried to beat into you - I love you,  I love!

You just shook it off and wiped it clean with a glove.

Can’t wait to see what happens next, god dam this living god dam this mess.

Shoe boxes full of laces and letters of bilk, razor blade apples and cyanide milk.

I stare at the ceiling but I can’t make it work. God dam this living god dam my soul its not that I want to I just can’t control.

I can see the end so clear don’t know why, you can’t see it too, there’s just so much everything and everything’s you.

Cigarette burns on the back of your hand, candy coated meth balls to make you subdued.

Jet fuel and ashes cover the earth, life is for living from day one of your birth but I just can’t stand it all the fuss and the shit, god dam this living I don’t see the worth

Sunshine and rain showers, snow storms and floods, black hoods and iron rods coming back all in blood. Why can’t they just let me be

God dam this living, it feels more like hell, needles and 2x4s do just as well to stop all the voices inside my head, time to stop screaming, time enough to be dead.

 God dam this living, god dam this mess, if it seems I’m 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 traveling day dream peep show, the playgrounds on fire and the children all know.

God dam the sinners and saints meet there too, just an average night in the life of a muse, forgotten and broken in throw away shoes.

 The shallow rise and fall of the battered and broken make me feel so alive, I feel so unspoken of words that elude me again and again it’s late and I’m tired it’s time now to end.