It feels early in the afternoon
As the sun grows tired
And slips to sleep.

Clouded days, everything grows;
My shoes are filled with dirt
And my insides taste like black mud-
It's tar and it wont work for me.

I'm worrying about
The color of my teeth,
They're sticking and I swear
My lips leave black marks
All over your imagination.

You make my stomach churn gray
Ash, it's all of my breakfast,
Breathing in your smoke,
It's nothing.

I've mastered things
Laying against the sink,
You're sinking into me.

a.a. you feel with your heart, but my stomach is the compass of it all