Megan Burns - No kids & no dinner to make (Day 15) lyrics

dr. carter to the rescue no kids & no dinner to make — i take my lack of life seriously patient dying but the truth is doctors warp round the last religious ablations, satiate the pain of failure with god complex & dexadrine percentages toyed more than what sick get because people die whether you is helping or is not so winged trespa** a wrought level to escape just get paid & keep low the malpractice suits blazed sorrows in cases shaped a seizing keep grinning through burnt chest procedures & just so you know i'm worried all the time you will take your life before i do that Sexton/Biggie mashup playing Ready & Waiting under stubbornness rewound low brow humor where we elbowed interrupted by moments of connection it's imperfect at best, just a figment at worst, & conditional on my grateful yeses always every mouthpiece locked gravel pitch bit the curb where it would've been appropriate to hold you when there is no other, my co*k washed is a fraternal refraining a gold dusting that splatters dashed wishful thinking b) habit or c) f**ing pointless because i'm a cab driver, doorman, doormat fat boy a coffee-brewing, dogsh** collecting, poem-revising solicitor of no futurists chasing covenants so any punching bag craves a body bag: he counts driving all the bridges from where i keep my books to where she before disappearing the obscure wrestles herself in gym clothes nosing the door the be let back inside having read them never matters. it doesn't now. riddled in a knotted pull over i force interest these days because it pays to discover there is nothing left to hunger dark nouns in a creasing dirt & river, the s** was good but you learn to turn that brain wave off unconditional a lie of course it is but what comes from saying it aloud & be not dead tonight be better than okay even if dying parallel to the crated cement i found & taken i'd know it's out there but where there are four bridges from bedroom to the bar & cops park sullenly at the feet of three of them. when you are roped: coal-colored city of domestic ache i'm the doctor & you're the patient don't expect to get better—no other, i make no bed in no, i tell what is dark to the light, a blaming ends doubled you my throat music. i reply knife. Time kinder, rewind the tape & let the music move closer.