Kitchen Sink

Moving photos of ghosts

Projected against the chemical smoke

It closes all around me

A taste bitter as paint thinner

Switch the sound off, breathe heavily,

They haven't found me--

Slouched over my desk,

with my head pressing the keys or

Sitting up in bed, scene reflected by the screen

Blood pounding in my temple,

Remote controlled by the feed

Fingers slip between the blinds

This is what I see outside:

vampires. pedophiles. secret police.

Threat levels elevated for weeks.

Feel my blood pressure peak

Before I snap the blinds shut

Heart beating in the darkness,

Eating from the box

Half-conscious, half-life

Full of sad nights spent

Re-running my favorite programs over again

Light glowing on my skin

My face shows no emotion

I sink into the sofa like a city sinking into the ocean.

Is the kitchen in the house? Is the closet in the house?

Is the bedroom in the house? Is the living room in the house?

Alright then check me out:

Lead paint peeling spreading stains in the ceiling

Revealing rust, dust, roaches and rats,

they make a killing. The smell of death is filling

What remains of the building

53 sq. feet makes my cypher

complete

Whether drooling on my pillow

Or laid out on my sheets

I keep falling, the TV keeps me falling asleep.

The world is mine in my dreams.

I see myself selling myself to myself

I feel like hell and cry for help til I'm held

Until I'm safe in the arms of my home-body

Shut in. Nobody knocks on my door no more

Nobody comes in

Though I'm sure my existance is a topic of discussion

They must wonder what the fuck will be left of the mess uncovered

When they finally take a wrecking ball to my bedroom wall

I will show them all

something.

Is the kitchen in the house? Is the closet in the house?

Is the bedroom in the house? Is the living room in the house?

I don't go out.

I just wander the halls

Fingers run along the crumbling walls

Sick and deformed like the dip in the floor

The drip in the kitchen's on a mission

to kill me off, I should've died in a crib fire

And will before long. Smoke rising from the old wiring

Ring the alarm

Wish I could decorate the place with the smell of napalm.

Barricade to save face, never answer the phone

Stay away from the shades, try to vanish in the smoke

I no longer know If I'm the cancer or the host

Can't manage to cope without damaging my throat

Used to make plans to go but they cancelled my show

Now I watch Channel Zero for a pattern in the snow

From the clock to the mirror to the carpet full of holes

Things have gone well beyond a job

for pest control...

Is the kitchen in the house? Is the closet in the house?

Is the bedroom in the house? Is the living room in the house?