The Carpet Knows My Name

Waking on the floor with nothing,
Just twisted clothes and death breath,
The whispers of vermin
And a charlatan’s thoughts.

Mourning in the morning,
A sticky cough like caramel
And a red eyed dawn,
As the wolves that never whistle
Growl wild in my back yard.

Hatred and rainfall,
This is what weekends were made for,
Your missing smile and the itch
That grows from the fingernails
Of the sinking,

Fizzing and twitching for hours,

The carpet knows my name.