follow the black marks on the floor fallen through a bathroom door on his face that s how it finds you you built an altar of books and melting wax sackcloth and his panic attacks smears his eyes with the candle ash and oh does god have a sound like a family laughing loud or a garden gate opening to a world you ve never found but not everything s a metaphor you know some things just are like the way she slams her bedroom door that doesn t mean a thing he tied a dirty towel around his waist washes his feet with the tears from his face oh ain t it a shame that s how you find him in the darkest closet behind the veil in his sweet and haunted hour of prayer his hands and feet they claw the air and oh does god have a sound like a little girl crying out from the attic of her house where she hid herself for days but everything s a metaphor to the blood stained over the door to the bread crumbs on the floor well everything means something