I don't feel so hollow, today,
but I'm smart enough to know that doesn't last.
I keep remembering dreams I've had,
like shopping around Paris with no cash.
The breeze tickles my hair,
she laughs in my face,
I push her away.
But if it were you,
I'd probably ask you to stay.
I'm mad at me for including you
in every ******* thing I write.
I need a  drug dealer.