Did you ever ask how long it takes to write you out of every verse and all the lines and pages crumpled in the wastebin and beads in your hair and lips drawn like mannequins and some unsavory sounds muffled and escaping under the door
Tap tap slap with accent and headache and eyeroll while matching shirts stain in the same exact places and the low powerhouse hum hovers somewhere between C and D flat while beachy melody traipses over mutual bored expressions
Everything is borrowed, have you ever built anything with your hands? Why so soft and exhausted, you *****? Why don't you stand and fight back?
Unknown monsters disappear into shadows and thick smoke leaving a trail of tired descriptors and false intention