She was part of the airforce
I was part of the band
I always used to bust into her hand
In my imagination
I was living my best life
Living with my parents
Way before the paying penance and verbal propellants
And my cancellations
And I fell in love with a boy,
it was kinda lame
I was Rimbaud and he was Paul Verlaine
In my imagination
So many cringes in the heroin binges,
I was coming off the hinges,
Living on the fringes of my imagination
Enough about me now
‘You gotta talk about the people baby’
Now I’m at home – somewhere I don’t like
Eating stuff off of motorbikes
Coming to her lookalikes
I can’t get the language right
Just tell me what’s unladylike
I know some Vaccinista tote bag chic baristas sitting in east on their communista keisters writing about their ejaculations
I like my men like I like my coffee – full of soy milk and so sweet it won’t offend anybody whilst staining the pages of The Nation
A Xanax and a Newport
‘I take care of my kids’ she said
The worst of inside of us begets that feeling on the internet
It’s like someone intended it
A diamond in the rough begets the diamond with a scruff you get
Am I ironically woke? The butt of my joke? Or I am just some post-coke, average, skinny bloke calling his ego imagination?
I’ve not picked up that in 1,400 days and 9 hours and 16 minutes babe – it’s kind of my daily iteration
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