The sputtering blink of the streetlamp
Makes you taller, then shrinks you, then splits you in half
So you're trailing yourself on the walk to the payphone
Your pockets weighted down with quarters and the hope that no one's home
You spray paint cinnamon on vines and key the cars you pass by
Your ears burn and your voice don't sound right

So you spend the next week playing weakened
Rolling three men alone in the dark in your kitchen
Your apartment can't talk, so it's safe for your secrets
All the stories you've invested with a masochist, menacing meaning
Those tired tricks that you play to graft a life to your name
And you know it's not yours but for now, it's okay

You wake and cut your initials in cheap glass
To mark a space for yourself when your time here has passed
And you're drifted and done, trading danger for distance
And all those rocks that rope your neck are finally nameless and weightless and faceless
And you strip the sting from the stains that bleed the life from your face
Your cheeks will burn red on a pure, perfect day