Spin and spin
The spoon in the coffee
Avoiding conversations
That are bound to happen
Picking and picking
At food gone cold
Sitting here at the kitchen table
The silence doesn’t get old
We spend our days sipping coffee and writing meaningless words we think sound lovely together.
Spin and spin
The spoon in the coffee
Avoiding conversations
That are bound to happen
Picking and picking
At food gone cold
Sitting here at the kitchen table
The silence doesn’t get old
Rest in peace to my forgotten ideas
Ideas that may have been genius
Ideas that maybe have gotten me to go somewhere with my dumb fucking life
My dumb broke life
My rich, genius, forgotten ideas
The poor things must be cold
So forgotten, so alone
Maybe someone can save them
Or not,
Either way none of these ideas really mattered,
They never even existed,
So rest in peace
You will be forgotten
Sex is fun you see?
So I know it’s good for me.
Missionary, doggy and sixty nine
Got me feeling mighty fine
Sex is like a sandwich
You can put anything on that fluffy bread
So dont be a pillow bitch!
Before he leaves you, give better head!
I’m feeling good
I’m feeling fine
The weed makes me feel like I’m on cloud nine
Finishing a warm beer from the night before
Dont want to waste even more
Drawing and writing while I’m creative
Until my hands and my brain are sore
The bottle of Jack Daniel’s
Calls my unspoken name
I take shot after shot
Sipping and sipping
Drinking and
Sipping
damned
The blade calls and it beckons my name,
I can’t cut again
I can’t feel the shame
The shame a bloody arm gave
A bloody arm cut down to the bone
My skin would scream that I’m all alone
Sleeved shirts in the summer and jeans at the beach
The infected skin is the color of a pale peach
The bloody arm is sliced again
I’m nowhere to go and without a friend
Sitting at the table with my mom, picking at my food
She asks where my smile went, and why I’m in a dull mood
Rolling up my sleeves, with all the bravery my heart can take
“Help me” I say, and my mother drops her plate
A nice album calls
“Abbey Road” the vinyl says
I jam out to it
I’m missing you more
Waiting for you at the door
For your Volkswagen
You may think it is
Creepy that I counted your
Cute eyelid freckles
It stings down my throat
The bitter taste I swallow
Not semen. Whiskey