A little girl found a deck of cards
On her daddys poker table.

She always knew how to make a home
Out of a gambler.

Her hands were steady as they were small
She built a tower, stories tall.
When daddy returned, it never fell.
The boys bet his chips around it.

We built this family with a house of cards
Steady hands and racing hearts.
We built this family with a house of cards.
Queen of hearts, two of cups.

Daddys a fool, played his part
Just half a step into the dark
When A little girl found a deck of cards
Sitting on her mommys altar.

Hers hands were steady as they were small
She watched her house of cards grow.
When mommy returned to Tarot.
The cards had found themselves
a different owner.

We built this family with a house of cards
A good read, a bad hand.
We built this family with a house of cards.
Press the fool into the queen of hearts

We built with Risk, we built with Sin
We built with every card in hand
We should of cashed it all in.
But here it stands, our house of cards.

The dealer busts, we grow old
A little girl can build a home.
With nothin' but a deck of cards
From a fourtune teller and a gambler.
In the audio recording you sent me
An hour of touching yourself
punishment for misbehavior

you giggled and cried at the same time

The "Oh, fuck"'s
"dear, God"'s
They built up inside

screaming for the pain to stop
With a trembling whimper.
"This is fun, but I can't wait 'till it's over"

If only you had said this sooner
In the daylight
We could have known
Time was running out.

We were never so honest
as our sex
Not even to ourselves
Bent over the painted lines of her road.
Stood a black feathered crow
peeling back a tendon of flesh,
Like a strand of red twizzler candy,
from the tannish white fur
of a dead bunny.

she thought this was cute.


Her daddy did not correct her.

This memory, he revisits every time she brings a new boy home.
Debates internally,
the tipping scales that balance ignorance and optimism.
If maybe he should have explained the beauty in death, rather than let her beleive her illusions.
The beauty in nature, the circle of life.

Like a cat, she brings home dead animals

Like the owner of a cat,
He is unimpressed.

Maybe if he told her the bunny was dead, she would stop offering herself to the crows.
Phrases heard In:
Black Jack,
League of Legends,
and The Bedroom.

"This is supposed to be a team game".

"Tap like this, to hit it".

"Let's Double up".

"I need a leash".

"No, no, no, never do that".

"That's everything I have"

"Forfeit Forfeit.. Just forfeit."

"There's no chance"

"Just keep trying! don't give up! we can do it!"

"It's just not in the cards, man".

"I wouldn't risk it".

"Never stray from your strategy"


"just take the tip".

"Nice job!"

"We're fucked".

"We should end it".

"When you go in and out like that, it throws everything off".



"Okay, let's finish"


"I always end up on bottom".

"Hit me".


"split them".

"stay in your lane"

"Stop being toxic".

"He busted!"

"We won!"

"this is a battle of attrition".

"I don't have enough money for that."

"I'll move to the middle"

"Look at this champion!"

"Consider yourself honored"

"You didn't listen, you should have listened".

"How do I play this, Champ?"

"Don't hit the 18!"

"Come onnnnn!!!! COME ON!"


"That was a terrible start"

"You got lucky"

"We got lucky"

"That was a hell of a match".

"Good game"
She wore a fur coat
Made of a lame prophet
'Cause she was blind.

Carried my weight on her shoulders
I suggested she open her eyes
The rest, I had memorized.
So At least when I died
She was always on my mind.

I was a terrible navigator
In the court of god, convicted sinner.
She had a hunger for shape shifters
I fed her.

Soon as the car started,
we parked it.
Leaned the seats back, fogged the doors
I stared at her collarbone
We didn't go far.

Who could have predicted
Her body in a Broken mirror
I was her seer for two years
Shame I couldn't see her

This all could of been different.
Shepard said to lamb
Follow the dog, He knows the road
figured god assumed
My soul was cold
Her soul was coal that warmed the home.
The hearth, the meat, the lame, the blind.
The Golden brown, leaves outside.
The autumn trees like Coffeeshops
call out to me

She Hollows out our her dowry
pollen spread like a dandelion.
Polluted whole cities with seeds

Memories and libraries
The chalk outlines in my mind
All that was left of these things.

So whether you fall or fly
Girl, I'll be singing

If nobody listens, I'll paint the clouds.
If no stare is lifted, I'll shake the ground.
If everyones sleeping,
I'll give them something to dream about.

If nobody sees it, We already lived
a life worth dreaming
so who gives
a damn who pays attention.

Just let the lame guide the blind.
Just let the lame guide the blind
Just let the lame guide the blind
I've replaced each color

Red smells of sulfer
a luring chill, howling sirens, silk mist clung to wet skin
  clouds cover sheep wool, that chars in heat

Yellow cracks pepper over itself
impact pops gemstones, vacant kings crown
Horses clomp toward them
  pill bottles shake above burning cities

Blue of baby powder
budding from pollen, crying children
droplettes falling into a body of water silently
open mouths, dancing wet tongues,
  I can't hear blue screaming

  color are uncomfortable
In a Somerville coffeeshop, waiting for his single origin light roasted Pour over,

Frankenstein reads a philosophy magezine, seductively planted by the lounging area.

"One lives two lives."
The magezine reads,  
"That which one spends in their physical body,
and that which begins the moment one leaves that body,
lasting until all witness to ones first life has spoken its final word".

The baristas eyes widen when he sees Frankenstein,
The barista says nothing.
He knows better than to raise the dead.
Frankenstein is often confused
for his monster.

Condensation rises between crocheted mittens, Frankenstein Lingers on the Cherry notes in his Coffee, while it combs icicles into his snow white mustache.

He likes this new version of an afterlife. It empowers him to take advantage of the time he has now, to make his second life last as long as possible.
He's in the middle of this thought
When his face slams against dirty snowbank.
Dog piss mixing into the icicles of his moustache.
A familiar mob of torches and pitchforks only see the monster.
They take turns kicking.
Frankenstein wakes to a lynching.

When he lives
He is not a monster.
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