Verse by @tide.mercer

the floorboards keep the score the kettle screams and i let it i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand the kettle screams and i let it

the dog still waits by the door at six there is honey in the bottom of the bad years there is a version of us that stayed i keep the receipts of everything i felt

i speak to the version of you that listens the church bell is just a bell on tuesdays the calendar keeps making promises we made a home out of almost

every train sounds like leaving from here i buried the argument in the yard the tape hissed where your voice should be my hands still know your kitchen

i love you in the tense that has no word the church bell is just a bell on tuesdays the field went gold then went to sleep winter came in through the window we never fixed