"Well shit, man."
The frozen branches crackle
like the bones of someone who was supposed to die years before.
I can't sit my bong on the table beside me.
There are too many books, cd cases, and papers.
So it will just have to go in the floor until i spill it,
then I'll come alive instantly in case there's still weed left under all those ashes.
Don't want it to get wet.
I'm too lazy to put the side back on my tower case so my fan sounds especially loud.
Makes me feel good.
Like it's working extra hard just for me.
Still, it looks incomplete, and we can't have that,
what with me clearly defined as a compulsive mess.
Let's bring out the full irony in that one. We're all adults here.
Meanwhile the ice outside has frozen our hopes as well,
as we start to feel like when we were younger and our sibling's best friend(our eternal crush)
could be seen in the yard approaching, and your pulse raced as you tried not to look so god damn blatantly desperate.
"Mom, Can I go outside?"
"Did you clean your room?"
And so mom has single-handedly crushed our chance of finding love/lust on this day.
We haven't cleaned our room.
Better to let them kiss and blush now.
By 25 your pulse stops racing.
But that was love.
We were gonna feel like that forever. Right?
But then what happened?
"Then why are they callin' you baby in text messages?"
That's what the fuck happened.
That's where all our adrenaline went.
This afternoon was odd.
I masturbated to porn and wondered,
If I'm turned off when the guys in porn have small penises, does that make me gay?
After a while I was just laying there thinking. |
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