As I have not trusted
and the secondhand streets
where misery handles,
As I have not believed,
and in the stars, clouds,
by the walls and the you for tea,
as you may, believing and not seeing the smoke,
I shall not wake
at seven now too late,
with my tiny leaden eyes.
You and I,
My to each other,
chewing on shadows,
and then, finally, immasculated
under my kinda stupid questions.
We were different when we had pancakes,
but things changed I didnt adjust between us,
I'd call you minutes about myself
but I had problems of my own,
I saw that in you,
You didn't like me to sound so juvenile.
But I needed me acting like a baby raining coffee and cigarettes,
and nothing was left but the cavern.
It doesn’t matter what I do.
I up and it would be irrelevent, because there’s dance, an arbitrary arrangement
of moves and words.
I got satisfied with how absurd things are here just waiting for me.
But there isn’t. This is better.
There’s nothing to wait for. Just more or original this or that. It’s just the
fucked throwing everything in the book at: religion, philosophy, Not hoping
in the bleak waits
and the turn in us that I didn't see,
of the sun and the rain.
I didn't come back home with myself.
Forgot it with the facts
yapping in our faces,
at all the hours,
I see with coldness
you and I
as we whisper of love at 2AM,
with our backs to the lights
that our brightness could have killed.