this house
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