Dostoyevsky Gets Mugged Outside A Donut Shop In Jersey en Kind Of Like Spitting

Our savior's fallen ill, and he won't get up. We've cast
away our stones. Why won't he
get up? So unawake with you,
you let me drive your car.
You let me break your heart
and still not want to give
up. So now the only time I get to see you smile is in

the darkest rooms with the brownest tiles. And to hear
you laugh is a sweet refrain.
So sick with joy, I'm the
perfect boy. Our savior's
fallen ill, but here's a
souvenir, another saint to
pierce against your bedroom
wall. It says you can't give
up and that you won't wake
up, until you close your eyes
and lay down.