Under my sink is a grave
Here lies a cockroach

I don’t think he meant to be brave
Surely that’s just what cockroaches do

Hide under sinks
Waiting for the rainfall of crumbs
After the smell of **** fills the room

A last meal
Perhaps he had made a request
Or perhaps he had made a mistake
Unable to see the difference between
Peanut butter and poison

When the spring comes
And the sun shines
Ill be ready
Will i be ready
If the bloods drops
And the drugs stop
Will it be enough
Could i be enough for you

Baby here we are at our grave
Time has come
Can’t be saved
At least not now
They say sometimes
It’s not the right time
Tired of the night time
But I don’t know when the sun is coming back
And I cant make you wait
Baby here we are at our grave
It’s my fault
Please just look away
Dont be scared
You wont fall

Sorry,
I love myself more.

My springtrap jaw snaps me awake in the morning.
I fear my teeth may break one of these days.
No choice left,
but to stuff my sockets with dollar bills
and hope the problem goes away.

My teeth chase me in my dreams, laughing at my unconscious terror.

“You should stop acting as if emotions are a spectrum” said a lover after I picked apart a feeling I couldn’t understand.
I began to argue but remembered that I don’t go to therapy  
so maybe I should just shut the **** up.

I hope I remember this moment at some point.
Been drinking & binging & listening to new music.
My heart feels some intense and familiar way -
Present & yet reliving many lost memories.
I wish I could piece together these glimpses of myself,
these never ending days.

I’d stick glue in my brain
& catch all these running images of my character.

I hope I remember this moment at some point.

Alone, content & craving
to return to something that was never quite right.