I’ve made sure the windows are painted
That was step one
I have to open my metal door to see
The world, the dying summer
Because it can’t leak into here
I am so broken I make myself believe this
And that
Love conquers the weak too
Step two is ignoring the bony girl and her crystal ball eyes holding
The pit-bull with the
Bleeding leg
And I believe, because my soul
Has been left in some purse or backseat
That the dog doesn’t know anything about pain
Step three is admitting that I’ve set fire to sunflowers
Because I thought, I knew, they could take it
Step four is putting God inside of an air-seal jar
For 3 to 6 weeks on my bedside table
While I tear into thin laughs
Step five is pretending to know
Pretending there was life in the dead leaves
Burnt orange and burnt red
Step six is climbing from under the bed trying
To be oh so quiet
Because it’s midnight and that
Glass-cut boy you’re ******* on
Isn’t making any noise
Step seven is collecting dust
Step eight is sharing a pillow half-heartedly
Reading about bedbugs at night
Trying to chase the visions of your bare neck
Glowing
Stirring her awake
And go south to fight off winter
Step ten is spitting pesticide on the spring dandelions
They (you) are flowers, they (you) are sycophants
They (you) are beautiful, they (you) are weeds
Step eleven is burning the bridge
Where I had to pull off
your dress to
Keep myself on
Step twelve I’m half-awake
In a puddle of my own fake blood, in everyone’s blood
Calling the doctor for blue-black sleeping pills
You won’t come looking for me
You’re busy
Sleepwalking away from misery
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 10:01 AM UTC
I’ve made sure the windows are painted
That was step one
I have to open my metal door to see
The world, the dying summer
Because it can’t leak into here
I am so broken I make myself believe this
And that
Love conquers the weak too
Step two is ignoring the bony girl and her crystal ball eyes holding
The pit-bull with the
Bleeding leg
And I believe, because my soul
Has been left in some purse or backseat
That the dog doesn’t know anything about pain
Step three is admitting that I’ve set fire to sunflowers
Because I thought, I knew, they could take it
Step four is putting God inside of an air-seal jar
For 3 to 6 weeks on my bedside table
While I tear into thin laughs
Step five is pretending to know
Pretending there was life in the dead leaves
Burnt orange and burnt red
Step six is climbing from under the bed trying
To be oh so quiet
Because it’s midnight and that
Glass-cut boy you’re ******* on
Isn’t making any noise
Step seven is collecting dust
Step eight is sharing a pillow half-heartedly
Reading about bedbugs at night
Trying to chase the visions of your bare neck
Glowing
Stirring her awake
And go south to fight off winter
Step ten is spitting pesticide on the spring dandelions
They (you) are flowers, they (you) are sycophants
They (you) are beautiful, they (you) are weeds
Step eleven is burning the bridge
Where I had to pull off
your dress to
Keep myself on
Step twelve I’m half-awake
In a puddle of my own fake blood, in everyone’s blood
Calling the doctor for blue-black sleeping pills
You won’t come looking for me
You’re busy
Sleepwalking away from misery
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