the internet doesn't know what's wrong with me
(( an old poem ))
Obituaries bloom like rotten drugstore valentines
A damsel (me) snorts 5 tons of that speculative stuff (you) then cries in the deepest pit of postpartum shit
Oh image producer power Oh pill like a cross Oh pie in the sky
Oh say did you see
The way that flag kissed the wind?
Oh say did you hear
The crowds went home?
Nuclear families, health insurance, student loans
The fields are all empty now
Springtime and my eyelids start sprouting skinny petals
No doctor and
The internet doesn’t know what’s wrong with me
Bathroom break on the clock