If I had a fingernail left
I would bite down hard
To taste the dirt that never leaves
From my computer keys
I've never lost an arm or leg
I have enough to eat
But every morning brings an ache
I wake without relief
A phantom limb I've never known
It's the fear beneath my feet
That melts the ice away
I fold my undershirts well
I make a perfect crease
But I still haven't buttoned down
The reasons I stay clean
I turn the TV on
Watch someone else's news
I live inside a made-up world
No one scratching for the truth
I only fight the falling leaves
And the boredom in my brain
That makes the devil sing
You'll find me
Waiting on Sunday afternoon
Gun in hand
To shoot the moon
Every moment wasted
Vacant in my history
Is written off
As one more life that I've lost
To something made of more than me
As if I were made of anything
That won't rot