unkempt hems

hallelujah you're a ghost between my walls

hallelujah i'm a wrinkle in your sheets

the thing of it is, my lack of creativity has gone so deep that i simply cannot write a lick.
i've taken up making sense
whats the happening with this season for crazy?
i cannot feel my face, my hands are tiny ash trays
theres no symmetry in life
did i say i made sense? i've got to stop these little lies.
i want to rip the carpets up,fall asleep with a mouthful of cigarettes-
cuddle up to the discarded folds of fabric and find fever in the restless flames
darlings please dont tell my mother.