Sweet nothings,
Our pillow talk...
All my names
Poured in
An open ear,
More hot tar
Pounded down
With open fist
For emphasis
Suggesting that a
Pencil may just fit
To keep it there,
Or tickle that part
Of my brain
That keeps me sane.
Today I lost my eyes,
Tonight no hearing -
Always thought it nicest
To die in sleep.