I may be fucked, lost to sweet madness and infidelity.
If only you knew how backwards we get!
Now I can only read 200 page novels
And aspire to a moderate appetite.
This is so ultimately shit.
It's all I want: strung up, ripped
From the other side of the room by terrific
Terrible sweat eyes.
I can't understand why morals prevail when it's all wrapped up
And packaged.
These dreams exist in no other bed; your God will keep them here.
When my voice goes you'll be happy to hear only you
In this wooden room.