You fastened my wings to your web
It's a sticky situation, sure
Holding hands, hanging by a thread
But I want all your eyes on me

Put your head on me
Lay it on my shoulder.
Murmur kindly at me
Accept my gerberas
Be the world to me.
Let me know that you're breathing, at least.

The tree by my bedroom window claws at the door and dances
Encouraged by the oncoming storm
That's why I keep the blinds shut
To keep the outside out
But moonlight seeps into my bed anyway

The myth of the house
Is that it's tasteful.
But your mother exalted its beauty.
Cover your eyes,
Sit still in blindness,
Let her take the wheel,
Wait in line.
The light shrieks in chorus.

It peeks through my armor and sprouts out my back
Taken from me and I gladly let it go
Millipedes are kind animals, centipedes are not
Araneae is what's possessing me
(maybe it's what I am)
but I can't help but think of other bugs, of independence

A warm breeze blows a warm greeting
Inhale, exhaust
Choke the way you did looking at your father's shoes
After the game
Magma runs over your feet but you think about those days
And say, "I'm not miserable"

**** them, they don’t
have to pay for parking.

My feet have tread there
a thousand times,
but only now do I see
the weight of
my million pictures.

I borrowed your eyes
for a moment,
to think through you
in a drunken view.