You know that you won't die
from the little bit of pesticides
that let you feel your best inside
your tiny apartment,
where you're nesting like a mocking bird.

Hydroplaning eyeballs
and a fly bomber jacket
aren't quite enough to justify
gritty life in bed stuy,
so you stitch with a dime store crochet kit
that you bought at
the corner bodega.

You stay inside
because your heart is beating twice as fast
at every awkward eye contact
like each new frown's a cataract
that's growing a deposit in your sight.

But you won't go back to
the treehouse that you came from
you'll never go back to...

You don't know
how little it all means to be involved in the scene.
'Use 'em like a pill, put the paper on the bill.
'Credit card apathy
is growing like a river liner out of me,'
you say it so sweetly. So subtly.
Indigestible.

I know something's coming
I know something's coming
I know i know i know i know i know...

Did you think you deserved it?
Did you think you could stop it?
With your aching heart?
and with your shaking hands?
With your telephone friends?
By getting lost in art?
You're a bleeding heart! You're a bleeding heart!

PTSD and a new personality
Brooklyn Behemoth, be swallowed up by the sea.
Everywhere a cancer, and everyone a dancer
to a tune you can't follow and a pill you can't swallow.

You're a bleeding heart.
Ignoring upturned hands.