You dress me up in funeral rags,
crying for reasons I don't understand
(&you) frowwwwn when I drag my fingernails down clean-slate chalkboards
in empty classrooms where the world can't be too real
(dangle your heartbreak from yellow yarn and please sm–ile)


October baby:
you playing sober is the
thing that hurts my glass-blown heart
(love is d r u n k
you'll know what I mean, you'll know what I mean)

Eclipse my sorrow, sunshine,
with kleenex kisses and white-flag wisdom
drink up, because
It only hurts the morning after.