Blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah, insomniac crappy poetry theater.

I'm to live in the city

That was built here for me,

Each brick laid by hand and warmth

Breathed into rooms.

I'm to sleep here where I

Was laid down in a bed

That held and contained me and was almost home.

I am to drive the roads you paved.

Every day, I am to live in this city

That you painted with me,

Splashed red, 'cause it hurt.

But we lined the streets with lanterns to hide in the shadows,

And tore down the walls to make love in the rubble.

I am to live in this city

Left smoking, in ruins.

Its architect off to more lucrative offers:

Paper skyscrapers and Styrofoam homes.

I will live in this city, 

And will sleep through its crumbling

And let it burn down

And grow back on its own.