31.5.23, or bad poems about time (good mourning to us all)
walking smiley face with shattered limbs
you don’t know where I've been
but then - you never asked.
hey mother, this is the bridge of the song
so do you mind not talking
for a little while?
a longer while,
a little while longer than you'd expect. Sorry
it's my favorite
I've got plenty of favorites I couldn't name to save my life.
and this coffee tastes like being six,
and this street smells like being ten,
and this song sounds like middle school,
and the wind in my legs after a shower feels like before.
you'll see a million poems about making enemies with time
mine must be the silliest,
simplest. find comfort in it?
less than decent deciphering,
rest in recent I'ddieforhims
hiding in a broken drum.
oh well,
good mourning to us all.