To the blue clouds
rolling out of town,

I’m begging for
a last hurrah.

This ever-growing exodus
of one-hit-wonders
drifting through the air.
A single word
away from obscurity.

Perhaps it would be better
to never rise, only
to hit the ground with their tears...
and, most importantly—
follower count.

Scarring yellow acid
lovely as can be—
dripping down my cheeks,
stinging my skin
and adhearing to all—

burning the tastebuds
that keep honing it in.
Yet those yellow cubes
that break apart like strings,
will forever be my most welcomed agony

I can’t even begin
to tell you
where I begin
again