You're feelin' sick, 'cause
your stomach is sprawled all over thin ice,
watchin' the cracks sprawl out around it.
It keeps trying to take root beneath the water
but it's all frozen
and there's no room to grow.
Tell me, do you feel the space
constricting on your lungs and brain
while you're out there smoking to the stars.
You love seein' your future burst into
pretty smelling smoke.
Don't you.
I want to write love on my forehead
but it wouldn't fit between the words
I've already scrawled behind my eyes.
And it's funny,
'cause I still hear the clock
when it gets quiet.
