I was woken from a pleasant rest,
my lady whispers "bad news" (and wake-the-neighbor loud sex)
she hesitates to say, but we bounced checks,
can't even pay rent.
so I busk in the day for a few cents,
cuddle up at night in our sleeping bag love nests,
cuz we could be together 'less she lose the urge to effervesce
so sick of waking grimy, feeling twisted in the escher sense
tired of the filth, the stench of moldy clothes,
I guess she lost all hope of going home.
but she was fine… at least I told her so,
I guess that that's a lie cuz every night she tried to overdose…
I know a ghost... she fills me with resent,
she's etched in my regret.
sometimes I wear her shirt, just for the scent.
and tend to every flower where she's buried in the garden beds.
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