The attic

There is a switch in my attic

That shuts down my furnace

When the house gets too warm

To stand

It’s so easy to flip

Just look at it too long

And the weight of my gaze

Will turn it all off

And things become cool

Then things become cold

And I am comfy as a corpse

In the frozen ground

But it is never a good thing,

There is no ice for the living

And I must to the attic return

Senseless, numb and staggered

With the effort to switch it back on

That the heat return

Warning my frost bitten hands

And I know it’s working

When the pain floods in

Because life is sure to follow

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