By Matthew Paul-Olmos
Her eyes are vacant as some shit’on parking lot
And yes, I know at some intersection I found them draw’ing
But that was then and now its not
Now they are empty an on the floor crawling.
Her silences makes me sick to the sound
And its true, I once mistook her song for beauty
But no, now I know it is more like children drowning
Sinking deeper down and along into stupidity.
But nothing is worse than hearing her talk
Sentenced thoughts like a car wreck
And rather than listen, you’d rather be on the asphalt outlined in chalk
Pretending to sleep and hoping she’d slip on the glass and cut through her neck.
But there is one feature which I now do truly adore,
It is her absence and the ocean between us which no cars can go.
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