Sunbleached

Your head a mess of guilt and blood-soaked bedsheets
 You left in the dark of morning with your head down
 You learned the curves of the road like
 The shape of his subversive body
 Winter morning on your windshield, running on empty
 Between whiplash from the weather and your erratic tone
 I grit my teeth, you talk down to me over the phone
 It's not the kind of love that feels good
 But it's one you can't escape from
 Makes my heart skip beats like car wheels on a gravel road
 I'm thrashing as glittering waves of orange poppies crest over my head
 Vultures circle over highway one
 I come down washed up under cliffs bleached by the sun
 My body falls apart again
 In Pasadena, Portland, Oregon, where you dig your holes
 And watch your life unravel day by day in semi-precious stones
 They glitter under blacklight and tabs of acid
 You find yourself alone