We were state of the art,
you and I,
for the most part,
when we weren't screaming,
and constantly dreaming.
We were state of the art,
you and I,
for the most part,
when I wasn't crying,
and you weren't lying.
We were state of the art,
you and I,
for the most part,
hidden beneath the sheets,
committing moral deceits.
We were state of the art,
you and I,
for the most part,
even when you was my something,
and I was your nothing.
(October 2014)
Something quick I wrote for an open-mic poetry night.