Midwestern night.
There’s something out in the fields,
Something banging on the roof.
Fresh vomit in the toilet.
The sink is running, so you can’t
Hear your own heavy breathing.
Dad snores away in bed
Oblivious to the monster at the window.
The memory of nights like these
Grow archaic to him now.
But when you pass through the kitchen
On your way back to your room
Those eyes blare just as real as yours do.
If we get scared, they have us in their pockets.
If we don't, all they have is blood.
And blood is not a weapon.
From what I remember, it was born growing.
It was born hot, expanding, glowing,
and the people were made of gold
and of fire.
And it kept growing, it kept burning hot, bright,
"So I was in English class, right," said the kid, "and the bell rang, and while I was switching classes, I got super thirsty, so I stopped at the water fountain, but then I remembered that this fountain is out of order and the only other one is in
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