Ah the intimacy of houses
in lit windows
scented kitchens
clothes hanged out to dry

Ah the intimacy of houses
seemingly cosy
and quietly caring
in the twilight

Ah the intimacy of houses
a chair on a fallen porch
foretold absentees
ah the intimacy of time

this feeling inside
tears me apart

Equations                                                                                     your name
march                                                                                                   scars
down the                                                                             the margins
left-hand side                                                                               until I can't
of the paper                                                                       hand this in
flawlessly                                                                     this is what I  w i s h
this is what I am good at                                       I could be good at (y o u)
I am logical                                                               I am the mess you've
and organized                                                                   made of me

you've got your life together
your perfection
oozing from every action
you're in bed by 10
having finished all your work
impeccably, of course
and you look like the kind of hallucination
I'd want to have as I was dying

and I can't figure out
why I can't do the same
but more than anything I'm afraid
that it confirms what I always knew
I'm not good at anything
enough
to deserve you