so what will you do when you're dead
will you find someone else's bed
a softer place to lay your pretty head
a easier way to release a ****** day
or will you make it home again.

it was so much easier to pretend
i didn't care when
*i didn't

with filthy, unkept
bloodied hair draping his
gritty, weather stricken face
glaring through frozen
torn eyes that have gone numb
into the punishing sunlight
of the unfathomable wickedness
a question was chained to his
morality dragging it through
nostalgia and the unknown

the waves keeping crashing
to make a sandscape kaleidoscope
despite the dashing young man
vanishing and politely asking
*stop

you produced a pocket
like a pint sized puppy nuzzling
into the bed space between my legs
puzzling how so afraid i laid and ran away
all in the same frame

her best ****
was half drunk
fully clothed
in the front row
of a strangers
disco funeral

it's like pre - gaming really hard
being way to drunk before you even leave
some people need to throw it all up
get it all out and let you know what they ate
others, perhaps the more important bunch
just need time