A hounds-tooth coat
Pockets are bulging with Nembutal, bought from some doctor
Who also was bought to keep those pockets full
The face was lost, partly recovered
I'm half asleep, half in a frenzy
One side tries to smile enough for two

Pictures remain, split at the image
Cupboards well-stocked with things to diminish
The pain that comes with clarity and mirrors in well-lit rooms

She checks in, in dwindling daylight
A week up front, asks not to be bothered
The registry will show her mother's name
Locks the door, sits on the bed just a minute before she picks her purse up from the floor
She's pulling out what she needs

Warming her wrists in promising water
Somebody's love, another one's daughter
Readies herself, apologizing to the motel maids

Double edged and super blue, vertically letting the life from you
Casting a new darkness through the room
Angels lay their odds on you, know not quite what they should do
Only that they can't quite tear themselves from the view