power lloyd stabbing himself with the pen diane gave him.

i left my tongue in st. louis knotted 'round my ex's finger
with a diamond-shaped tumor six-carat dead ringer
a year later i'm a drinker whiskey while the sad songs play
and you don't love her if you never wanted to punch her fiance
my anger's an anchor of pure regret
so i knuckle drag this path as unsure as my steps
in the direction of any woman whose face isn't yours
'cause you don't need me to sleep like lexapro and red doors
it's less force and more labor to write dear johns with razors
so distance is a blessing when indifference is your nature
but the miles ache like stillborns and cherubim choked
on words to sweeten my failures and your therapist's notes