i quite miss you when my brain is in the poison and the thoughtflow creeps slow and drudge but every time i shut my eyes i see and that distances all my supernatural speech from honesty.
Clichéd waste on a spattered battered street And my head is bulbed bruised and spun Clumsy unreal fun it was. Killing sun is climbing into eye sockets like sprayed acid
I’ll burn in teenage revelry I’ll live nostalgic in a park I’ll drink cider and be uncouth Prompt the middle aged to comment On the state of the youth. I’ll scare myself at 17