Everything makes sense. I love my life.
I'm a genius and perfect parent and a
motivational speaker and **** star.
I split atoms and human nature.
I paint you beautiful and real as
impossible as that might seem.

Tiny dress and **** me shoes
       bring me back from the dead.
       I was sleeping in a graveyard
       inside the cavern of my head.
       You made my heart beat again.
       It throbs wild like a beast
       hungry for the promised sin
       starving for a siren's feast.

I'm ashamed of my affliction
   through no fault of my own.
   My life's been lived in parts
   watching from the dark alone.

   Afflicted. Conflicted. Addicted.
   Betrayal. Portrayal. Burial.

I've been drinking
  since you died and
  left me talking to
  myself for comfort
  I just can't find here
  anymore with your
  shadows everywhere
  your touch is gone.

I'm barely awake from a dream. I
    need to call home. 6 Alcott Lane,
    Greenhills. Is my room still there?
    Is the Xavier pennant still nailed to
    the wall, and Christ on the cross?
    That room was my growing up womb.
    
    I found my *** in that room. I puked
    beer in that room. I played with my
    plastic super heroes in that room. I
    was sent to that room when I told my
    parents that I got Kathy pregnant.
    I know there's no going home.