"Damage is to decorate what erases you..."
Or was that the definition of love?
It's how the sparrows begin their vanity each morning
Singing to themselves the way you do...
Why are you so suicidal boring?
I want to cum on you while you're climbing
your suicidal ladder, doing your adder barter
Facebook banter with your morning latte crew of haircuts.
Count the times you despised yourself,
and end your poem's bird shelter.
I am aware Americans can actually flower.
We invented adjectives. And streetlights.
I will die without ever having been sheepish.
We mad at least have no indecision.
The first cardinal to arrive wishes suicide on y'all
still listening in winter to Joy Division.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment