(Sorry this sounds kind of depressing, but I just got a call from home about my sick mom and it really brings me down when I hear about her getting worse.) Baby these nights are getting longer all the time. Sometimes I get so caught up in everything passing me by I can’t tell dusk from dawn. There’s no measure of time when you’re stomach goes sour to the first hint of failure and loss. And eachday there seems there is nothing but stab wound news just wishing to overtake some life I thought was once mine. But the longer I sit, the more this notebook grows vines to wrap this body in mummy like form, freezing some death like face to my neck, moving down to my feet. Just waiting for that call to come for news, any news, but only the worse news that can grace these ears. And when the alarm goes off to burst any peace you can reach, burry yourself in covers and just wish this was the closest you’ll ever come to your grave. And baby I’m so happy today. Just look where I’ve come now, just look at all these bullets i’ve dodged and logded into the wall. Floating down this river of forties and limes so happily building up my defensive wall. And it’s gonna take everything everyone’s got to break this distortion I readily make. Phone calls from home are the weakness that pierces straight to the bone. Mommy’s dying and cancer eats her body black, “you ain’t never gonna have her back” How am I gonna learn to deal with that? So crawling out of bed I reach for a toothbrush, a fake smile and any bottle that tastes good with corn flakes and a broken heart. Brush back black hair trying to remember how this face looked before getting lost behind two bruised broken blackened eyes. Baby I’m such a mess, a conceited fuck that never had to worry about these looks until bashed into the ground. A puking mess wasting away on dirty bathroom floors. Letting my weakened body be taken over by rats that degrade any self respect I once had. Soiled body and a bloody mess, I should have died there baby and let you live without my problems.