Write a fable—then cross out all the lines
given to keep things ordered.
My bullshit is owned by me;
I write it down and watch the words shake hands with your eyes.
Now: every waking moment that wasn’t what it should’ve been—
I wouldn’t know—I’m beyond reasoning with.
I subtract and divide, so suddenly, it’s a blur
I’m a complete fraction of who I was before.
You’re so sexy with the residue of last night’s sick game
1,000 pages of sweat, torn text and mistakes,
Under spotlight and keyed for you to tear apart.
Every mistake is for you.
I’m just following the lines I drew.
A sketch of walls to keep inside of me.
And you’re on the outside, looking in.
Wondering why I went and did such a thing.
For you…I don’t know,
But I guess we’ll see.