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In the house with crooked floorboards, on Main St., Nelsonville,
I sweated into the carpet, hovered over my father and became violent.
Now as I wake up every morning and try to control my breath next to hers,
I sleepwalk Cleveland Avenue to work, and I smile at the women who walk back into me
– I am trying to save face.
From the shot in my lung and the poems you stole –
they were all about you anyway,
so just take ‘em to save face. In the house with crooked floorboards on Main Street, Nelsonville,
we mixed our cool-aid with gin and met eachother trading punches
– “This is nothing special,” I said.
You laughed and we agreed, and we became inseparable friends
but our intelligence got the best of us, yeah we tried to save face.