sprinkles splatter on
tight clad legs in december,
and it should be snow, but
the clouds are thinking
of committing suicide
and haven't got anything
to spill but tears
i'm smoking bowl after
bowl, trying to ease a mind
full of manic mutations
and masterfully marred
optimism
geminis have a strange
way of guessing the words
that will slip out of lips
of ones like themselves,
and tonight i've found a
human who entered this
world just a week
before me
it's almost like a secret club,
but the secrecy is terrifying
in an electric way, and i'm
plugged into an outlet
ready to be fried as i
spill broken heart after
broken heart to a man
that understands me
all too well
he tells me that he
knows not why i ask
for advice, because
the truth is i'm stubborn
and stuck and i know
what i want, i'm just
wasting away with pride,
posture, and predictability
every moment that i don't
go and get it