Lonesome Crowded Me

Some kind of pain, this way comes. 
If her love's a gun then I'll stand here stunned.

With her mouth's contempt, I outward throw

my mind's attempt to build and grow.
And she can not build by breaking down.
If love's a gun, why's it in my mouth?
And each addition heads us south,

it's funny how we bickered about.

And this empty house I've figured out,

so lonesome crowded and my shouts

so muffled silent, while your doubt

augmented violent thoughts of down.