boy, you are not listening/ i know you’re fucking dead/ how does that preclude you from listening/ fuck you for being dead/ that last time was like you wanted in my guts/ the poetry of reserve/ no one believes a word you say, and no one ever did/ hiding here in a coffin, connor, that you call your room/ it’s a closet with a mattress on the floor/ i listened to all of it, i’m the one who cleaned you up, i’m the one who promised not to call you parents i promised, connor, i promised again and again and again and i’m burned out on promises cuz i can only ride this wave, mooning me with your ass disappearing down baby down and around and sunlit at dick dock and round the clock and smokin’/ your hands over your ears when i told you stuff about i’m not standing around here for fate to fall cuz it already fell, i am so way beyond it, sherlock/ i’m here for the long haul, and it doesn’t really matter because you are stuck with me because let me reiterate i am the one who cleaned you up when you shit and you were almost nothing you were a blot on the wall and here i fucking am still mourning you, oh, god in fucking ass help me, and you do not want to fucking hear this shit because you are not listening/ connor/