that year-long empty room
and these seroquel-laced
nightmares that you've caused
since that day crying on a payphone
in my city of love miles away from here
because you said I was worthless
and didn't care about anyone but myself
who were you anyway?
just someone put here to crash
my white picket fence dreams
he took me out for pizza
and we watched the swans on the lake
not one of them black
i prayed that one day you'd leave me alone
then you died
he dreamt of a black church and
the black cats are surrounding me
but they meow at me lovingly like
they would their own mother
wanting to play
not hissing as I assume
you might have planned
we went back to the lakeside yesterday
and a wedding was there
you told me to never get married
"what's the point? you hate kids anyway
and I bet you don't really love him either!"
you couldn't have been more wrong
tonight i hear fireworks outside my window
mimicing the sounds of gunshots
I imagine they are murdering what's left of your ghost
turning your angry teeth-gnashing skull to dust through the drowning
black windows of that year-long empty room
(Richard M. Feldman) Ever since I was a young boy, the only thing I wanted to be was a cowboy. I wanted to own and work on a real ranch, with cattle and horses. Especially horses.
While I never became a cowboy, considering everything I have done
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