my bed rests in my sisters old room
and some pictures of her friends remain.
my duvet is stitched from hands and machine
of the woman i forgot to love.

i can't even begin to describe the truth.

the sheets underneath were bought by
the girl that ****** me best
but the lady i love is no where to be found.
complex on complex on complex.

i can't even begin to pretend i'ts not true.