on sunday
we gnash and fight
smoke blunts with three girls
who dont really want to
share
sarah looks like death and
olivias mouths the words
to songs she doesnt know
i feel like im dancing
like ive got something to prove
my ears numb until i pass out
dream of you as a little boy
crawling into my
lap and sleeping, i scratch
your back and neck and kiss you until
youre purring, how
terribly accurate
and prophetic our little
mosters are
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