in spring,
we smoke cigarettes on my front porch
under the loud fan, swapping stories of shitty shrinks
and medication that dulled the good and
sharpened the bad
and, looking out at suburbia in silence,
i start to cry
in spring,
we smoke cigarettes on my front porch
under the loud fan, swapping stories of shitty shrinks
and medication that dulled the good and
sharpened the bad
and, looking out at suburbia in silence,
i start to cry