Grandmother No. 2

There's a fire in my closet
and the whole damn world's pressed against the window
looking in on what I've mistaken for the answer
breathing in, breathing out
under the weight of all the smoke
no matter how loud I scream
it still sounds lame
no one's listening anyway
the steam on the window is full of their drawings
Jesus and his lot, Samson with his Delilah,
my grandmother's golden cross strangling me
like the words I keep writing
to trap myself in a reality I can't comprehend
to build bridges between the gaps in our fingers
burn 'em all down
and inhale whatever is left
because my father is on the phone
and soon he'll probably kill himself
so I can regret my emotions forever
the f*****g cemetery full of people I couldn't love
I might as well be warm now
enjoy the show,
these matches in this closet