More to Speak Of
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I come home, eyes are all red, hair is all messy.
I can't figure out what made you cling to me
in the doorway of my building.
I have this kind-of-disturbing,
stomach-upset coffee-drinking feeling.
Night goes by without sleep, no use for dreaming.
I'm alive, I am awake, my eyes are shining,
and my skin's been brushed by lightning.
Last time I had this, I was less old,
less wrinkled, less scarred, more to speak of.