the tree in the yard has a heart that is red

you live in a room without chairs or a bed

only a mattress you keep on the floor

it makes accusations

it’s thin and it snores

it watches at night and records all your dreams

writes it all down with invisible ink

violins play and they used to sound sweet

the flies in the sugar bowl used to be meat

what used to be rain washed out all the roads

what used to be faith was traded for rope

violins play through a hole in the floor

you live in a room with a mattress that snores

the flowers are dying

the vases are cracked

your face has a string that ties in the back

the mirror shows only the back of your head

and the tree in the yard has a heart that was red.

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