Alice, it was an accident

I am writing this by the light of the television,
it matters to me now, what i'm watching.

Anything with violence,anything with love,
make me look at you sleeping, and then I'm angry.

Your hands up and through the windscreen, and I can't hold them,
your chipped teeth and bright bloody hair dull as dead birds.

You hold your arms as tight as a seat belt,
wad your hair between your teeth
your legs wedge the engine dead.

It's December
and we're waiting for Christmas until you wake up.

I've eaten everything you made,
I watched White Christmas without you,
I want you to know that every time I wake up,
I smoke another of your bloody cigarettes.