she's been taking out

the blood. she's been

bleeding you dry like

a sand bank.

i heard you couldn't

have children, couldn't

get all worked up. dry as

a sand bank.

i know you think it's

not true, but it is true

you'll never be more

beautiful than you were.

its the light, it highlights

the slow curves and

bows of your lips.

you could be a failure now.

you could be a failure now.

but you're not, 

and she's injecting blood

into your eye balls. trying to

get your waters moving,

inducing some kind of mediocre reaction.

(its all the media man, the media)

but the media didn't cause your dry sense of humor,

or the slowly burning tumor growing inside your chest

where you heart ought to be.

saucey