I wake alone
in a woman's room I hardly know.
I wake alone
and pretend that I am finally home.
The room is littered
with her books and notebooks
I imagine what they say, like,
"Shoo flie don't bother me."
I can hardly get myself out of the bed
for fear of never lying in this bed again.
Oh Christ, I'm not that desperate.
Oh no, oh God. I am.
How'd I end up here to begin with?
I don't know.
Why do I start what I can't finish?
Oh please don't barrage me
with the questions
to all those ugly answers.
My ego's like my stomach,
it keeps shitting what I feed it.
Or maybe I don't want to finish anything anymore.
Maybe I can wait in bed 'til she comes home
and whispers,
"You're in my web now,
I've come to wrap you up tight
'til it's time to bite down."
I wake alone
in a woman's room I hardly know.
I wake alone
and pretend that I am finally home.