So much time spent thinking
4:33AM and there's no beer in this house
(Which is some fucked shit)
Only Popov. Fucking Popov.
A full fucking night of thinking and all I get is Popov?
False--look to the less tangible, the more digestible:
Facebook 'stalking;' truly, deeply, with people that I have nothing left to lose with anymore
Less time relating to others' standards, I tell myself regularly, now
And music! Loud noisy trash with that voice,
That voice that you love because it fucking hurts
And you don't feel like an angsty preteen, because read line 8
Even him, bub, though he'll laugh and raise his eyebrows
Fuck it
This is a shitty poem. But it's less shitty because you say so?
And it's fucking fun to be shitty occasionally. Just stop freaking out about it later
LIL
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