You are a
Beating heart
Of disease
With windows
Straight through
Your soul
I look in I see
The world
Full of
Dusty light
And people
In their
Kitchens
Crying about
The same things
God doesn't
Forgive you
Your mother
Doesn't believe you
The curtains are
not you and
They don't match
the red carpet
You haven't cleaned
And poetry is
Printed on the
Wallpaper
But not in
A language you
can read
