i don't write anymore
when i am alone (and i am mostly
alone) i spit at myself and it does not stick
i'm a cruel and spiteful host i grew up in a suitcase so when winter comes  
i pack my things. get ready. get ready
on the edge of the bed i wait for it
i don't have time to spare
anymore
when i am alone i want nothing more than this low hum in my ears remind me
pick up the leaves from the ground, oh god, and pack them
bring them with you
i'm a cruel and selfish god (i grew up stuck with unstuck roots)
and i don't write anymore
pick up the seeds from my hands, oh god
i don't have time for them anymore
(i'll never learn to plant them and
they'll never stick
not really)