Again

Untrusting ideologues and waking next to you?
I couldn't tell you either, either of you,
The dreams I've been keeping don't burn like the truth.

The truth is. the sun doesn't shine here I don't hear often, of your fucking nights out and pathetic bouts, there is nothing I can tell you that you couldn't yourself, if I don't open my mouth I can't close it on you with nothing malicious intended it's always the result.

At what point to we return to playing make-believe,
a tool
like elephant guns in my bedroom.