We’re all dying in our sleep in favor of our peaceful dreams. For bandages and broken glass and wolves in white elephant masks. You’re too good to love a fake like me so I’m milking heart attacks with my chipped plastic teeth.
I’m an overdosed shroud eater. A mute set, a broken trap while you’re curled up in anothers lap.
Oh, Can’t you hear the ghosts hiding in our walls?
There’s a hell, it’s in the threads we cut. Blame it on karma or call it bad luck. I don’t want your love but I swear to god this hurts like fuck.
I don’t want you to call; I don’t want you to write. I just want to get some sleep tonight.
And if there is a god, what will he do with all these failing organs of mine? Stretch them out, and make a better night sky? Or feed them by the handful to the birds? What can do he do.