there is a ***** bottle here
i can only wonder why it's in your too soft hands
the same hands that hugged your mother goodbye
overjoyed, pumping them in the air
you submitted today, not an object, but yourself.

the glass seems full from here,
small, but you'll get tipsy nonetheless
with the scholar who'll forget your name after you fill her head
fill the empty impression of you with shots downed
she will forget you too, once you leave
the object of your admiration drowning you
like the bottle in your wake.

i can see it clearly too;
clear, plastic, bought without id,
you're happy to show it to me
knowing i won't tell your struggling father,
it'd break his heart- and it'd break you.

exclusion feels right with no consequence
and i'll still climb and climb this ***** fence
i dream of the same night but as a ******, i keep my mouth shut
(you'll be sick at midnight; it falls on deaf ears)