"overpriced" poems
If life gives you lemons
just be thankful it’s not a lime,
and when squeezing it
avoid getting the juice in your eye this time.
Aug 16, 2019
Aug 16, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
drinking all night,
watching a soulless reptile
talk about his company
and trying to sell a sea of nerds
overpriced videogames
drinking all night on some ***** LA heat
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 8:11 PM UTC
I fell in love at a McDonald’s. I expected it to happen in an overpriced cafe or a fancy Italian restaurant, but it happened at a McDonald’s and it was love all the same.
We were on our way back from the beach. We went whale watching but the ocean could have been empty for all the fish we saw. We paid good money for a caricature of the two of us. The graphite image of a happy couple with our faces sat in the back seat of your car. It would be framed and put up. We went into the sea as deeply as we dared and laughed and screamed as the waves came and came and came.
We were driving home with bits of mountains and boulders stuck between our sandaled toes and that’s when you pulled into a McDonald’s.
You ordered a sandwich, 100% real beef, never frozen, and asked me what I wanted. I said I would have the same. 100% real beef. Never frozen. I hate spending time and money on that which can only be consumed. We sat down with our food underneath the fluorescent lights next to a Happy Meal kiosk and I decided that I was in love with you and it was love all the same.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
in our
besieged republic
snipers are
popping up
everywhere
taking ***
shots
ending lives
with a well placed
head shot
active shooters
star in
world premier
events
jokers
rise like
dark knights
casting large
looming shadows
on real 3D cinemax
multiplexed screens
sprinkling overpriced
buckets of popcorn
with generous
dollops of blood
others
head back to
school
still ******
about missing
recess and
excessive
sentences
to detention
halls where
bullies tortured
scrawny inmates
with wedgies
and painful
***** twisters
they’ve
come back
to even the score
leaving
bullet hole
pockmarks on
Sharpie smudged
smart boards
declaring endless
summer vacations
for classrooms
of children
who don’t
give wedgies
and only dream
of soft *****
these
urban guerillas
are now working
to liberate airports
from the tyranny
of TSA agents
fulfilling
PATRIOT ACT
duties for
10 bucks
an hour
and
last night
the latest
active shooter
showed up at
the Garden
State Plaza,
-my hometown
mall of america-
mumbling about his
Grand Theft Auto
score, strung out
and crashing
from an unfilled
pharma addiction
script
he grew
up as a
Highwayman
in Teaneck
a former
classmate
working
at Nordstroms
said he was
a really good kid
he was,
one of the good ones,
he could have shot
some people
but the only
person he
shot in the head
was himself
legions of
police officers
surrounding the mall
stood down
grateful for overtime
milling about
in the flashing
red strobes
inhaling the heady
blue fumes
rising to commend
Bergen County
Blue Laws and
next Sunday’s
time and a half
active shooter
training day
Jimi Hendrix:
Machine Gun
Oakland
11/5/13
jbm
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
∅⚢☢⚧☯✰⚩✿⚥∅☢⚧☯✰⚢✿⚥☠⚩☯⚧✰
Too little and of course, too late
they spend what’s left imprudently
attempting to alleviate
the love of God’s own liberty:
The world transexual one-party state.
They think it’s normal — right for all
lost in a prideful dying fall
their lions heed the sea-horse call
attempting to transgender fate;
the devil searches for a mate
his nightly Babylonian date:
the world transexual one-party state.
They’ll legislate the Lord away
(his fundie followers as well)
their hateful heaven, holy hell
shall wither up and disappear
before redemption can draw near.
Their myths no more shall obfuscate
nor dangle such celestial bait
that underwriters overrate:
the world transexual one-party state.
Their antichrist is overpriced,
the nations, globally enticed,
now glorify the deviance
in herd-like mass obedience
surrendering to expedience:
where good is bad, and bad is great
and Christ the only one to hate,
allegiances exacerbate
the world *********** one-party state.
Parties will form and parties end
but parties can no more defend
consolidation into one
than flip a switch and dark the sun;
the Caesars left this part undone
the Muslims are just having fun
with our *********** one-party state.
Bring on the night until we see
that dark means dimming by degree
two parties? Overdone by one !
So let it bleed and let it be
till One is All and all agree
that we are doomed to hesitate
when God cannot resuscitate
the late One-World *********** State.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
There’s an Indian restaurant down the road,
And the owners have a beautiful daughter,
But she’s the apple of her daddy’s eye,
So I really don’t think I oughta.
There was a Chinese takeaway next door,
That did the best fried-rice,
But the authorities came and shut ‘em down,
For infestation of rats and lice.
There’s a newsagents further along,
But it doesn’t do much to dazzle,
Unless you want overpriced cigarettes,
And back issues of Razzle.
The Arab café across the road,
Does the best cappuccinos around,
The sound of Algerian pensioners laughing
Is such a beautiful sound.
There’s a Working Men’s around the corner,
Where the Guinness is dirt cheap,
And in it I’ve had drunken nights,
And memories I’d fight to keep.
There’s a chicken shop on the way back home,
Which I must say is pretty useful,
When I’m staggering home, ****** as a ****
The chicken burgers taste ******* beautiful.
There’s also a chippy down the way,
That does an excellent saveloy,
It got burnt down, and I can’t help but suspect,
It was a sneaky insurance ploy.
There’s an Irish pub next door to that,
Full of drunken, singing Micks,
The Dubliners on the jukebox,
It’s where I get my fix.
But I’m always drawn to the Indian restaurant,
Where the owners have a beautiful daughter,
She’s witty, glamourous, the same age as me,
And I really think that I oughta.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
"i don't wanna have to be the one to tell you this,
but you're no foodie; you're just a ******
who's too cowardly to take an honest look at yourself.
It's okay to be whatever you want,
just don't lie to yourself proclaiming to be a foodie
to justify late-night trips to Jack in the Box four days a week,
or eating a whole jar of Tostitos 'Salsa con Queso' every two days.
Are you trying to mummify yourself with all those preservatives?
Y'know,
just because you blow most of your paychecks
on gasoline, **** food and overpriced coffee
pulled to the most pretentious of standards
doesn't at all begin to mean that you've got any class, taste, or style,
let alone that you're a foodie.
At least recycle all the paper products your pseudofood comes in.
Moreover, your thighs aren't ******* gluten,
they're all that other junk you eat habitually
while watching your oh-so-edified selection of films
before sleeping it off until 3 in the afternoon.
No wonder you're so full of ****
you are what you eat, I suppose.
Pull your head on out your ***
All that fat and cholesterol isn't for the faint of heart."
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
Fat women with
Fur coats
To warm their overfed
Heaps of mass
Holding overpriced
Elongated, mechanical strings
Attached to their
Mouse-like dogs
That wear clothes
That cost more
Than my entire outfit
Shirt, jeans, boots, jacket
Combined
They yap to small devices
Glued to their ears
Like instruments
Of envy and jealousy
Yelling at their husbands
Or boyfriends
Or pool boys
Who haven't done their job
Either paying for whatever they want
Or neglecting to net out
That last nat
From their jacuzzis
Where they sip white wine
And sizzle in soapy water
Before getting out
And slipping on shoes
Made by kids
In Cambodia
Who have never held
A hundred dollar bill
What is wrong
Who is right
What is it
That's been done
Here
None of it makes sense
To me
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
I can see you there
standing in your studio relishing
in the faces of your followers
creaming their jeans over your creations
lightbulbs hanging from the cealing by telephone cords
and photographs of babies dressed as dictators
trying to prove that innocence still exists
when we both know that this world
was robbed of its innocence a million years ago
you might fool some people but I can see right through you
professional hipster, wearing tie dye underneath your skin
and an overpriced suit on the outside
painting your lips with designer brand
translucent rasberry lipstick
and kissing your acquaintances
a kiss for each cheek
I want to know how you can fake it so well
hiding behind your little purple door
counting money while I’m busy counting lies
was it easy to push your dreams so far away
so deep in the back of your mind that they may as well be in your shoes
did you ever think you’d be here
that you’d sell your soul to the devil
because I’m afraid that you might be my future
and I would rather stand at the end of the dock with Mr.Gatsby
gazing at the green light across the river
holding on to hope forever
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
Hey, I already told you that you were a little bit crazy.
What did you think—that I was completely nuts?
Come on, Cashew, and shake that walnut-sized brain of
yours, and then we’ll try to put together a decent menu.
Still, I ought to kick you in those itty-bitty sunflower seeds,
those ones that you claim to be your source of protein.
Hey, Macadamia Breath, accidentally lose the ******* hula
dancer and then fire the impending search-and-rescue party!
Your tropical trail mix was no good for each other.
You need a vacation from this deserted island, Captain Crunch.
Go down south and get yourself the businessman’s special.
You know—some old-fashioned brazil nuts.
Yeah, that’s the two-tickets-to-paradise, for sure.
Fool, you really do need to buff up the old almond.
Do I need to open up the **** aluminum lid for you?
You’ve been stuck inside this assorted, mixed can that you
try to refer to as an extra bedroom for nearly nine months.
Get out and take in a little hike and bike
right after you do the wake and bake.
Maybe you should go slow roast yourself at the beach a little.
Why don’t you go to the mountains and try to become one of those
pine nuts that end up in all of those overpriced health cereals?
Hey, Snickers, those dank trees really are beautiful, you know.
Would you quit acting like a frikkin’ flax seed already?
Just admit that it’s almost payday, for criminy sakes!
You pathetic Mister Peanut, you.
Please, Saint Chestnut, give this completely lost consumer strength
from high above store aisle number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Listen to me, Nutt Sack, will you shake those tiny little beer
nuts that no one can seem to stomach anyway?
First of all, they are becoming way too stale just sitting around here,
so if you continue to wait any longer, they will petrify—and then we
will eventually be forced to call you teeth-breaking Corn Nuts!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
I twisted the dollar bill around my finger and then into a bow.
I rolled it up.
I twisted it around my finger once again,
wishing the lady in front of me would order already
instead of asking what EVERY drink was.
I just wanted my latte.
I don't want to have to wait until next Christmas just to order it.
Oh my god, lady! Get out of my way!
Finally, she turned to the man at the other end of the counter, who is waiting for his coffee.
What did you get, Jim?
Caramel Macchiato, Cheryl
She turns back to the cashier, And what's a Caramel Macchiato?
It's an espresso, consisting of milk and two-three shots with caramel syrup, ma'am
Hmm, I guess I'll have that. A small please.
Just as I think she's done, she steps back in front of me.
And a red velvet cookie...you know what, make that two.
The cashier rings her up and I'm slowly nudging her away from the counter.
Hey Abby-ONE CARAMEL LATTE, MEDIUM
I smile, Hello Maddox.
$4.23
I hand him the 5 dollar bill and he stretches behind him and sets my latte in front of me.
Thanks Maddox.
I take my latte and change and walk around to the back, up the back stairs and into the book store.
I sit cross legged in a mustard colored vinyl chair, setting my coffee on the flat arm.
My shoes fall to the floor.
My book falls open to where I marked it last.
I bite the inside of my cheek as I continue to read and taste the cheap caramel in my overpriced latte.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
Darling I can’t find a word to describe you…
But I can find three
Overpriced. Airport. Coffee.
You have an inflated self ego like the over priced liquid
Airports try to pass off as coffee
The brew tastes as watered down as your originality
And honey if I’m honest
I shouldn’t even compare you to coffee
Because that might be the greatest sin of all
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
How do you begin
to talk about trust,
when every thought
that swirls around in your brain
has additional questions
attached to it:
is it real?
is it made up?
is it rational?
is it an overreaction?
is it temporary?
is it permanent?
Tangled root systems
of the same questions,
for every thought.
And I haven’t even
started on
Feelings,
[that’s a different poem
altogether].
-
How do you begin
to talk about trust
when, for starters,
you can’t trust yourself.
Grow up,
with silence
and
shrugged shoulders
and
the helpless statements of:
I don’t know, I don’t know, I just don’t know,
in response
to all your scientific parents’ questions –
questions peppered with
“logical”
and
“rational”
and
*“you understand where we’re coming from
…right?”*
and
eventually,
every time you think or feel anything at all
and have no explanation,
you’re left with one question:
how can you not know?
how can you not know?
how can you not know?
-
Say a word enough times
and it starts to lose its meaning:
trust
trust
trust
trust
Is it even a word,
or just a lucky combination of letters?
-
How do you begin
to talk about trust
when you’ve been let down
not once, not twice, not three times…
well, what’s the point of trying to recall,
when you’ve lost count of the times.
It would be one thing,
if you knew
why you’ve been abandoned,
or why people hurt you,
or why everything gets to you so often,
[is it you or is it them,
is it you or is it them,
is it you or is it them?]
but it’s the not knowing
that makes you realize
that people as a whole
are:
Unpredictable,
Unreliable,
Untrustworthy.
You’re not usually too angry about it,
this is just Reality.
-
This is just Reality, but
it’s the not knowing
that kills you,
closes up your heart
in a certain kind of way
after a while.
Oh,
you’ll talk to people,
if you must,
say whatever seem to be the right things,
be the listening ear they need,
if that’s what’s required of you,
be good, understanding, kind, empathetic,
to the best of your ability,
but you won’t Rely on them,
won’t accept statements of
I can help.
That’s a different story.
-
If you can’t trust
People.
[Forget about your family, the ones who supposedly love you,
with their helpful advice of “get a job, be useful, it’ll make you feel better.”
Forget about the docs and therapists, the ones who supposedly make it better,
with pills or overpriced talking sessions.
Forget friends, the ones who supposedly are your support system,
with “I’m here for you” and “I can help” that lead nowhere.]
then what you are left with
is trusting yourself
out of necessity.
And you’re back to where you started.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
Palaces of ****** souls
have green neon text frames
standing sideways like arches;
divine arrows, they guide
the paternal flunks, the tar-soaked offspring,
the lonely and the business bunch.
Here in these palaces, all sin is a freeze, all
lust is a spin.
Fairy lights are often flagged in a net,
to catch mischievous mares flinging
themselves against the glass displays
of overpriced clothing shops.
One finds when wondering the perpetual
lines of restaurants and cafes, the vastness of them
having a motherly touch, for
these palaces, they stretch like the sky and
they spread like the shepherded
fire ants of Gaia herself
And when ones welcome is overbid
they need only to follow the
evenly laid out, sorrow yellow street lamps
and bite their cheeks and bare the frost
for soon the polluted lux will lead them to
an overnight joint, a limbo of sorts,
where they can breathe anew.
On those red leather sofas- fast food
or the district kind- when the night seems
to crawl on its final limbs,
they'll lay and slip into sleep.
Some say they never do wake, that they
wither with the moon and then
haunt the attics of the dance halls
where they swirled and laughed and lived
in a previous life.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC
My fluttering heart gives me away
in the awkward silence that followed
the electricty of a forbidden touch.
Look into my eyes and tell me
that you love her enough
to cash in your best years
to change diapers and work too many hours
for overpriced formula at your local grocer.
You truly are an extrovert turned introvert,
giving up on your dreams to change lives
with your soul induced chords
intrically written with stories of your past.
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 3:28 PM UTC
Where buses still elapse with Time
Down straight Dame Street
The Trees are satellites that allow Children to look up
and let the pavement breath.
Earthen Columns that gate the Boombox Clubhouse tint
Flanked by the Yeoman Guards of Hollister
but forget to pay the same compliment
outside of American Apparel
Where Teenagers dream out fantasies
of lamp-lit, flash-shot
worship-worthy objectification
in a converted loft in the real New York
Their headphones spring streams of bright optimism
as they cradle knitted knee-high socks.
Take the curve round Trinity College
and laugh past the rumours
that it may soon float on Dow Jones
and dodge past the charity advertisers
Strutting over campbags of sleeping homeless
to Lemon Cafe for an overpriced Mocha
Which regardless deflates the sheen-covered hollowness
of green-comfy Starbucks
and learn the subtleties of speaking lightly
to dark-jaceketed Blonde girls
Whose eyes seem to sparkle "Yes, we have sipped
on Veuve Clicquot at reserved tables on Graduation nights
at Cafe En Seine"
-"Where Oscar Wilde might have drank"
- "..Had he been alive."
Then speculate on the best Festivals and whose
Films and Books are over-hyped and under-appreciated
and the after-College Gossip on who broke-up or stayed together
or who hooked up even though they shouldn't have
or regretted it
and who's doing a paid internship and who's moving abroad
and afterwards charmingly tease their superficial attitudes
as meanwhile they secretly take photos
to upload on Instagram
and later you'll fake-admonish them
for how they did this behind your back
while you were staring into the lake
in St. Stephen's Green.
When the moon no longer glazed the water
and had receded its contrast to the farthest grass
and you decide to take the last bus home.
Throughout
Caution Glints The Vowels
and Brands them too.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
Reading the paper kicking back with a few big boobie maiden's
He Man sit's and reflects after flexing his muscles for the maidens to giggle over mmm He Man loves the maidens.
Well after He Man's moment of deep thought he flushed the toilet
and beat the evil toilet demon back down the drain.
looking on the net and not just at **** He Man saw that evil Skeletor
had yet again erased yet another acount the master of the universe was mad so after wrasslin with the servant girl mmmm He man loves the servant girl.
He man called up Skeletor cause it wasa long ride over there and
and gas prices were a *****
One bar! fuck you verizon dam cellphone overpriced ****
He Man smashed the cellphone against the castle wall and cut that useless ****** head off cant hear me now huh ******
Man at arms build me better phone now!
mmmm He Man like a man in uniform.
After man at arms fought off He Man mmmm thats okay
he'll have to sleep sometime.
Man at arms built he man better phone with string and tin cup hello?
Skeletor Yorkie Speaking **** seems to be the problem.
Mmm talk slower He Man likes Skeletors voice.
He Man dam you leave me alone im busy with my life partner playing catch and hide the weazel.
Homegirl you better stop erasing accounts or im gonna get medevil on your **** He Man said in his naughty man voice.
Promise Skeletor replied.
BY THE POWER OF GREYSKULL WAIT WHATS THE REST OF THIS?
****** it been so long I cant remember who gets tied up first.
Wait what was i talking about?
I like ice cream mmmm ice cream.
Just then the line snapped it was cut by that naughty meat puppet
dam you Skeletor this battle has just begun.
Dont miss the next really weird *** episode of HeMan.
Todays lesson.
Well children never play with matches.
Cause they sometimes dont work so go out and get this
years sure fire hot **** seller toy.
The He Man Flame Thrower yes little Timmy wont have to take **** from that bully anymore just light his fat *** up like a christmas tree
and if this offended you get a life mmm He Man like life and *******
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 7:37 AM UTC
I sat nursing a overpriced draft in a underated dive
in Carolina.
I won't go into the details of it's location.
I won't be there by the time of anyone reading this.
And moments are just that and best left alone.
It was a empty bar .
Only me and the bartender and we weren't here for conversation.
I was avoiding the heat and like some B movie vampire in his coffin.
I found no need to view the light only burn my night world existence.
I never really liked bars much.
The people were pretty much the same social circle rejects and broken
highschool hero's who relived glory one beer at a time.
They always hated the jukebox .
Me I preferred a good song over some far fetched lie
about how some **** ******* saved the game.
Honestly I enjoyed a good drink and some even better music.
As well as the night's silence.
Simple people hate silence.
It forces them to think.
And thinking is a dangerous task for a halfwit.
Course I had to escape my hermit existence sometimes.
Air out my stale thoughts at least for awhile.
I sat there spending what little I never truly had to begin with.
Semi cold beer and smoke the perfume of my thoughts.
I shared only with the wasted page.
Hey mind turning on the jukebox?
I asked the silent man sitting across the bar.
It's broke he said and nothing more.
Well seems me and that machine have something in common.
Sometimes stepping outside seemed like a good idea.
Until you realize outside is filled with a bunch of annoying ******
I never went back to that dive although I hear the jukebox was later
replaced .
With some game that sat at the end of the bar like some idiot box microwave.
Still I think it has more personality than that bartender .
Course I believe at abuck a play it's overrated to begin with.
Cheers.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC
unmarked, scarred
unwanted, bought
overpriced, underprivileged
never seen, faded
yet always bright in your eyes
shadows upon tasteless tongues
burning with desire
each sense bursting with light
clouded eyes that dare not wake
wander
wondering at the sights their vision
will not bestow upon them
blinded and all seeing
your wisdom falls upon me
as if your essence were showers of rain
that sooth my uneasy breath
and cool the anxiety beneath my breast
but your eyes glow; ready to devour me
your lips curve at my desire
your teeth, sharp as shards of glass
tear at the ambition of my stoic heart
swallow the blood and take it
for within me it can only cause harm
maybe if it lies within your purity
it will soak in your water
ah
that i may drink from this fountain
and taste the love that is sprung there
and forever live in the passion of your being
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 1:40 PM UTC
I want green tea kit kat
Not because it is green
Nor it is a kat
Because it is a GREEN TEA KIT KAT
But as I look in the fridge only 1 remained
Yay it's a green tea kit kat
But NO It is the last GREEN TEA KIT KAT
I dunno what to do
Why oh why
Is it overpriced in the Philippines
Where coconuts are all around
But no cheap Green Tea Kit Kat
Someone pls
Give me more Green Tea Kit Kat
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
For I will consider a town called Riverside.
For its only river, the dry Santa Ana, it's shore peppered with the homeless, garbage, an old shoe, a cart stolen from the grocery.
For its downtown with dried gum spots all along the sidewalk, its dive bars with regulars pouring in at 3pm and pouring cheap beer into their gullets until morning.
For its overpriced theatre, a gentrified landmark, driving the sun-hot strays to the park.
For the park, and a lake, dotted with boats in the summer, driven by tired feet, hands hiding beer in gas station soda cups.
For the mountain, with the old ladies, counting every step, looking up to the cross and over the edge onto a thick brown smog.
For the steepled churches on every corner, waking us every Sunday to pray to a hotly scarce God.
For I will consider a town called Riverside.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 2:21 AM UTC
Hello, little god,
cornered in this world of insignificance;
between sips of too-cold raspberry tea
create your own brand of madness
and label it "art."
From the blueberry stool
that is your throne, conduct
symphonies of beluga whales and
daisy chains molded together
to craft another colorful beginning.
Papercuts and calluses
are your battle wounds;
a diligent ballpoint pen
is the dog that marks its territory.
But then--
White knuckles
crumple mistakes,
transforming them into carpet-coating origami.
Your fingers keep the beat
that defines disincentive:
bmm, bmm, bmm.
Possessed
by antagonistic demons, tug
at the noose that is
a favorite paisley tie
and admit defeat.
Take another bite of your
overpriced Reuben sandwich.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 4:06 PM UTC
Don't give me stolen sentiments, I'd rather have the wine. Don't paint my paths with fake rose petals, I'm a bitter valentine.
Diamonds are a girls best friend, let's face it you're always broke. You never write me poetry, and its all just one big joke.
That box of chocolates overpriced, it tastes like a cheap ***** All the efforts just a waste, to get in my front door.
Don't buy me flowers that are half dead, I can't stand to watch them waste away. Stupid men love stupid woman, on this stupid day.
I could just be a bitter chick, on a day you don't want to be mine. Just get me drunk and **** me hard, I'm a bitter valentine.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
and i swear i'll be your best time of your life
until somebody eclipses me in every capacity
the sunrise hasn't happened yet and there's still bridges
to burn, the oversized teddybear you got me from
the fair of those overpriced games lined up under the bright
farris wheel lights that shine with nostalgia everytime
i think about them again, crashing on your couch
and waking up in the morning to the smell of breakfast
but you have disappeared and it will be tragic, bones
hurt when you break them but you haven't broke mine yet
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 1:26 AM UTC