Every ****** black book has a name in it,
and yours is in every page I have written,
every story ends with stakes that are gory,
I wish my genetics were tight and so holy,

Wisdom comes from those who breathe,
but they don't inhale in all of the death,
Pigeons pick my leftovers near my knees,
they trust me because I'm of earthly,
I'll leave some seeds upon my legs,
they'll fly up and begin to peck,

And I'm free, as chaos restrained,
until what's left is bloodstain,
A river run dries until fills with red,
I forget the last time my wrists bled,
I have enough ****** to sleep forever,
I'm just sick of being the leftovers,

I dream a song to go with her whistling,
the cold, left me freezing and bristling,
the wise man says, conscious will remain,
but I'm hoping to catch circling train,
That is empty of all the carriages,
but I can go through remnants of luggage,

Swallow what's to lead me to sleep,
everlasting, peaceful and angst dreams,
End this life with her ****** black book,
signing off, on the day of grief that shook.