2nd floor, 3000 miles away

this is how the world collapses

these are the hills closing in,

the sky pushing down,
pulling the oxygen from your lungs

pills, but the pain won’t go away

the proper dosage, and still the

heart remains a broken record

and who is pollock in this

kingdom of despair but a
surrogate father or an emperor in exile?

who is your father but a drunken

stranger in a faded photograph?

or maybe there’s nothing but

dull grey rain all fucking day and
your hands refuse to work

the brushes gather dust and
the colors have no meaning

man with a gun in the doorway of

your sister’s room or
hanging from a greasy length of rope

says believe in hope but

don’t be a slave to it

gotta remember that every age is

the age of murdered children

gotta stand by the broken window

and watch water pool in the
corners of your lover’s heart

wait for the future to arrive and

then hate whatever
small irreversible changes it brings