Slumped and grumpy.
Soft and ugly.
God’s at the end of my bed.
I rolled around
And lost my head.
God’s at the end of my bed.
The farthest I could be.

They fake *******:
Dust’s collecting in a box.
All alone
I ******* teeth.
Lonely tongue
Itching sores
On the back of your neck,
Surfacing amongst silk
Far, far way.

Entangled comings
That spread through static
I hope are lost.
I hope you’re lost
Running over follicles,
Allowing them to breathe
And drip.

God is at the end of my bed.
I lose my head.
God is at the end of my bed.
I take his head.
The closest we could be.