I’ve got a romance inside
But it’s lust that is alive
The kitchen floor’s sticky as a snail
It’s only the whores who ever wish me well.
There’s one thing that’s occurring.
Brings me back to younger yearning.
If Jo comes back,
I’ll be here to pet her, purring.
Young Little was put to sleep.
But she now dead, baby bitch was weak.
I’ll promise to wake up if
You remind me to brush my teeth.
I keep having dreams of
A smashed-in face and hands around my throat.
But these are only things that
I have left a long time ago.