Our new house is still static,
Fuzzy and loose change,
And videogames,
A still image of my daughter

Decorated in style,
With baby spiders,
Looking for the mother
that I crushed under my heel 
last night

Littering the world with my own bad habits
I chain smoke my way
somewhere quiet
with a buzz that isn't nearly strong enough

What I want is bioluminescent,
floaty drunk
and messed up 
in some kind of way
A head kicked in 
and police reports
A private room,

Or, I don't know, something