String In My Throat - Digger

My heart’s heavy like sand.

You heat it up and then it just turns into glass.

It’s easy for you to smash.

The wreckage is on fire;

melted and twisted iron.

Wood splintered and chipped with one hundred nails stuck in it.

I choke to talk

to you.

I choke to look at you.

You’re a piece of string in my throat.

My face is like a map;

you see where you are at an X for, «You are here between

my eyebrow and my ear.

Just a tiny mole.»

You see it?

From up close, a picture of your face tattooed on my face.