Her definition was met with poor interpretation
Again I ask her
Again she answers
That nothing
Is wrong with the ceiling
Then why am I clinging
To scraps
That I'm dressed in
If nothing is wrong with the ceiling?
My husband is dead
I hear you confess
On the evening
You sent for me
So I sit and wait
I wait until I can't
Forgive you for wasting your breaths in my hand
I don't like an unfamiliar ceiling
And I sure as shit don't like what you've done to the room
