While waiting in line I find that knitting needles
Can indeed pierce through skin
And I discover that words are stronger
Than your arms when they are angry.
And I am a broken porcelain duck
That my grandmother threw away
Because she has no use for broken things
Although a whim once spoke to me
And told me that because we are broken
We are immortal.


While waiting in line I find that peace of mind
Comes from the pieces of puzzles that we fit together
Every holiday. And if Pine Sol would only heal my wounds
I think that I could have a content life.
While my gas tank runs on empty I run full
Of shit. But I can't help it if I hear angels crying
At night because holy thoughts aren't all you need
In heaven. You need a television too.
At least that's what my uncle tells me.
And sitting on the couch never looked so repulsive
Until I saw a broken duck on the floor
And I just wished that I could get off my ass
And fix it.