Parlor Wolves

Staring through night to your eyelids
Bathed the white moon's morose
Both swearing that we were content with
The ending we couldn't compose
Your touch couldn't combat the imminent
And my fumbling words were just mist
In the face of such distance
I believed that I would just forget

But I still see your ghost on the pavement
Slithering the streets with the snow
And each moment we stood in that streetlight
Swells out of any string's steady bow
I thought the misery that tied us together
Would starve in its romanticized youth
But I'm not sure I'll ever love anyone
The way I never loved you

I'd still sell my soul for a new map
To draw me from these catacombs
To destroy this splint I've been nursing
And carve me a path to my home
But that house still erodes gently
Underneath each day's oppressing weight
And I know that I traffic alone now
In this glorified interstate break

These blueprints I'd drafted for new states
Emerged a cold, splintered mess
I dragged the snow and dead streets to the courthouse
But the bastards refused to confess
Bestowing upon my reflection
A myriad of free cold readings
Sitting motionless atop my
Windmill cartoon feet

The days have carved lines in my cheekbones
Pushing my face past its age
Souring the South for a sweat lodge
Still hoping someday I'll be saved
Two wolves are at odds in the parlor
Their noses at the backs of my knees
My indifference, my self-love
Just depends on the one that I feed

My capillaries sprawl with congestion
From chemicals and warm nicotine
And when the weed is all out of forgiveness
I'll be baptized in the winding creek
They'll peel my head out from the black banks
The mortar will rot from my doors
I'll unearth grace without mandate
And I'll shackle myself nevermore.