2:34am
please don't go
wood is chipping
all my sweaters have holes
i can see my soul
through the bottoms of my toes
razor's dull
i can hear him
knocking on my door
oh
you're gone
where'd you go?
i can hear him humming low
flower's dead
children jumping on my bed
hope i'm not too bruised
to use
i'm dissociated
constant hatred
looking through reflective glass
who's that?
all i see are gentlemen in tophats
the clouds are crying
and so am i
hours feel like days
and days are months
i'm losing time
i press my flowers and my badly written poetry
and cut my bangs with a butcher knife
while he is watching over me
don't blink
he might see
cut my feet off
he won't follow me
don't forgot to check the mail
it's monday again
and i'll be gone
