In Bed, you...


 Shoot me down, the weapon you hold
Has become cold under the steel shine eyes you bury within your mind…
Quit talking about yourself, so out they go,
The breaths that swallow deep thought in their multiple tongues,
I rip myself out of bed,
Scar yesterday with thoughts in my head,
Twist singing into her eyes
Make her see the way it should be
The real way when one should be
When I should be

 Really it is all just a matter of time


Shoot me down,

The weapon you hold
It has become sweaty beneath your palms grasp,
Tremulous in the gasp of air
Seemingly ten foot away from your lungs.

Shoot me.

Shoot me down.

 The sand in the cooler,
Keep it cold for the throat,
Because this is your love I am guzzling down,
A stiff shot of whisky to sludge on my tongue,
Cough the treacle into bile.




Love you too…

The End

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