this house


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Take a boy outside his home and watch yourself forget


Why did I come to this house
 when this house is bare of myself


Who do I believe him to be
 (a nought inside a cross
 an apple inside an eye
 a man inside a metaphor)


A truth wrapped in the sweetest pastry of untruth


Of course I should take out my ribs and hand them to him
 certainly it would heal what I am missing


Or perhaps I will lose the bet
 and forget I need ribs to keep
 my heart in check


Little do I know I am already seven miles underground and without any air
Small bunch of flowers browning on my bedside table
as I breathe and listen to my ribs shattering into my lungs


I think that if I swallow glue I can fix them
 I think that if I take your face and burn it into my eyes I can remember why I came to this house

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