My heart leaks on the cold, lonely nights,

and neither my blood or my tears can fill the well.

 

I grab my skull through my scalp and press hard,

but no sound or solution or soul worth saving is found,

and I just sit like that in the middle of my too-big bed

laughing like a maniac or an asshole and tilting my head

like a brand new puppy looking at its master

who must be a statue or dead or lost or mentally delayed

because they never laugh back,

but the laughing never stops.