Even the dirt here is sterile
Dry
No matter how much you sin,
This building is tainted with the white-hot holy of
Institution
I don't wash my hair for 7 days
If I hold my breath long enough
I can imagine my plastic bed is a
Brown couch
It smells sour
In this grungy living room sit
12 disciples in a circle
Their ***** fingernails clink
And their hazy breath makes me
Dizzy with delight
Some nights I can't quite float above these
crisp white sheets
I tell my friends I've been writing more and
They believe me
Why wouldn't they?
Winter is coming
The rain reminds me I am still alive
It laps at my feet
Shallow.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
Even the dirt here is sterile
Dry
No matter how much you sin,
This building is tainted with the white-hot holy of
Institution
I don't wash my hair for 7 days
If I hold my breath long enough
I can imagine my plastic bed is a
Brown couch
It smells sour
In this grungy living room sit
12 disciples in a circle
Their ***** fingernails clink
And their hazy breath makes me
Dizzy with delight
Some nights I can't quite float above these
crisp white sheets
I tell my friends I've been writing more and
They believe me
Why wouldn't they?
Winter is coming
The rain reminds me I am still alive
It laps at my feet
Shallow.
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