The Coast Is Never Clear

I have my home how I like it. Flat floorboards, long windows, ceiling lamps. I don't know, but I sit around Eight hours a day Doing nothing. Using my hands. Using my eyes. I can never talk about the things I really need. Tanning is a giuse. They say, "You need it, you look healthy, Morgan, You look sick. Where is your healthy glow?" I'm still young and a girl, so I need one. I live in a place I like. No colors and lots of flat wooden boards. I lay on one to sleep, I eat on one to live, I stand on one to see. I do not even use my heart anymore. It is not even on my sleeve. I have thrown it into that corner over there. There is no sun. Only liquid and cold water. I put my face up to the window. There is no glass. I live in an old hotel that I like. Inside it is cold and blue, And the walls Breathe and sweat and bleed And release cathartic vapors. Collapse like swans. Tell me that they are without satisfaction Over and over again. It is something unbearable. But for all their weakness and complaining, Fr all their empty hearts, drunken voices And open sores, I can hear them. I bear them far better than myself.