if you tell the truth, there's nothing you have to remember.

If there's anything I remember about life it's christmas lights and all the little boy's eyes, strong in the sockets of these men, that see me from woman to child, and shake me back again.
This guitar plays itself

The inebriation only starts when you've finished

Been so stuck in my throat, over with my voice; diminished vocal source.

Down with our mixed laundry, I did you a favor with the impatience still savored, folding your ego inside out and into the wrinkled mess it is without you.