from my dead grandpa’s bed

lying here thinking about jello realizing i’m reduced to the guttural

a fuck off phrase that cuts to the core words flowery left on the floor, i used to hang them high a dangling reminder of beauty and death flying by, an insight masked, i do that a lot, get the shit out of your mouth a 13 year old student used to shout while i precious metal plated his punishment, he wanted it doled out. not sold. picking the words, the dressing, the tie, it’s a reminder i’m shuttering windows while writhing inside, trained to be shy? or, polite to the point it’s offensive and weak, i’ve taken your feelings into account too long, my strength is meek, pans filled with bubbling water left unattended, gotta add the powder cherry and lime mixed for a quick fix, knowing they’ll never come to our road, we gotta take a detour down to drown an emerging sound.

nazi punks fuck off should echo around.

2 thoughts on “from my dead grandpa’s bed

    • One of the more comfortable mattresses to make one of my more uncomfortable posts. Not sure why I’m awake either – the bird is sleeping soundly next to me while I make sure to spell Biafra right.

      Like

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