A little, but it helps.

Are we thrilled?.?
Rid of any happiness in hands. Gripping onto eyes much tired, they throw up.
All given in rain soaked ideas.
& pleased to see the cigarettes sitting there in your shirt pocket.
Doesn't mean anything.

Garrett Johnson.

So impossible Tuesday.

Awaiting decay.
As orange blossom.
In tidal pools.
When it's just right.
Change, reminds me.
Going creaking in the night.
Desperate woods.
In hallways.
But only.
Thank you.


Garrett Johnson.

The wayy she smiles.

Sputter out of controlling remorse, taken all of his energy.
Notably chalk.
That waits in his knee.
But then you sneeze.
Mostly realize.
That you've got it all.
And none in a hug that was in the fall.

Garrett Johnson.

This morning I
bought
both our pancake
breakfasts
to celebrate me
having
earned my learner's
permit,

soft and fluffy
discs
finally reaping my
reward.

Put them around mine.

Full of fake happiness.
Tea.
Forced poems.
& eyeshadow.
All as the cars go by.
Of the style.
And demise.
Written weary for the try.
Pretty bi.
Because of course.

Garrett Johnson.