Strapped to the roof with the freedom of the road
Our nightmare begins with a bang and a whimper:
The mattress stripped loose and
“It’s not worth it.”
So we fought and we gnawed and we
gave up
like a pattern in the stars

Saddled to the couch at twelve past three in the morning
Still unfolding the layers of a rotting onion
“He’s just a friend,”
you say with pornographic authenticity
So we fought and we stewed and we
gave up
like the tide of a full moon

Squirming through another pretentious film on the TV
“What’s so great about black and white?”
Well, I like my art like I like my women,
dull and heartless.
So we fought and we clawed and we
gave up
like the rhythm of the rain

Breathing underneath stifling, threadbare sheets
We’ve complicated our bitterness
with shared rent and the same friends.
Now we don’t speak.
Then we fought and we cared but now
we give up.