A paranoid sky talks to the sun
afraid to look down
asks why and how
who do you count on
at the end of the day
when its sundown and air
is thick as burnt steak
a brush fire becomes a storm
they turned their backs
he packed his bags
nobody around
to catch the fall
who do you count on
at the end of the day
when nothing is shared
down deep where it counts
all I could see is the lack
of eye contact
that didn’t want to be touched
or found in an empty pool
I looked into the midnight sky
hiding in all the wrong places
whetting my appetite
for something ugly
