Radiohead, radio in my head,
while my eyes droop in the bus, I
am tired tonight, I
am sad too.
I don’t want to go home, I
want alcohol to wash over
my mind, numb me
from reality.
The younger ran away,
the oldest panicked,
the giver of life, well
she used the knife, bled
her wrist artery, she
died.
I pushed open the door,
found my mother on the floor,
nobody was home.
I stood there, the door was ajar,
would her cut leave a scar?
I reached for the phone
but it was too far,
so I took the same knife
and stabbed until I
touched my bone, then nobody was
truly home.
Nobody was truly home.