Every time I drive by your childhood home my heart goes septic and I lose my stomach.
I don't understand because I remember you well. We parted kindly. I don't miss you.
But not all the mathematics of our hearts are sound. The echoes scarcely resemble the initial recoil. Not all the things we plant can take in this ground. I left out all of the good things when I turned around.
All the time between April and August I empty my pockets and tear out the walls.
Always to be followed by something like hunger or blood in the bathtub as I turn on myself.
But not all the mathematics of our hearts are sound. The echoes scarcely resemble the initial recoil. Not all the things we plant can take in this ground. I missed out on all of the good things when I turned around. But not all the mathematics of our hearts are sound.
credits
released March 15, 2012
Lisa Gloria Makes the pretty art work, I did the rest.
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