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To Charlie Kaufman
Oh look at the damage I’ve done.
I’m left on the run
And remnants of old lives bleed into one.
The traffic on the roadways gets worse.
Oh when will they learn
That your backhand’s a roadmap for Earth?
I want to not have the time
To lather my mind
With thoughts of hypothetical crimes.
My hand will start flowing again,
But it’s all the same,
And that shameless rag still is to blame.
This rhythm isn’t anything new
And these lines aren’t true
And I wonder if I’ll ever say that I grew.
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