and rings from coffee cups line the pages on the desk 

monday spent mourning the sun 

while taste still lingers from something lost along the way 



and you're the worst 

at what you love the best 

and up till now: 

an experiment 



around the staircase pools of dried blood 

singing you to sleep 

the dishes will know to do themselves 

I can't remember places but I do recall the name 

of something lost along the way 



and we used to know where we all would go when where gone 

and whispers of doubt that escaped our mouth carried home 

and as the night kept our parents in bed we burned new york to the ground 

and we used to know where we all would go when were gone