It's a pretty nifty city but I live on the outskirts
In a big house with a well and an old wood stove
As it's heating I'm completing one more stab at this letter
But the words don't come
Should these lines end with rhymes or is this prose?
As my heart hangs out blood's getting on my clothes
Plaster peeling off the ceiling so I patch it with spackle
Snails are crawling up the stairs onto my front porch
I've got deadlines to write headlines
But the drips in the bathroom
Keep me up all night
Busted sink makes me think I should want more
As my hands cut pipes blood's spilling on the floor
Where's this place I hide when I need some peace?
But where is the boundary
The task lists surround me
I find myself scrambling to scribble down what I need
What I have
Where's the time?
There's no time
So I wait for the day it all disappears
As my brain leaks out my ear
Out of ash and thick air I will rise again
But I can't conceive of what will happen then