She thinks
These words will sooth her
I wish I could
Say what she needs to hear
But lies are for poets…
Not scientists
…
A false sense of legacy
Stirs me to task
These words are not mine
They are not yours either.
…
Sweet platitudes
Soothe my self-doubt
Your emails
Lost in the wifi lounge
…
Throbbing basslines
A party two-stories distant
Your euphoria
Reminds me of mine
…
Three organs of admittance
A legion of cask bearers
Who never really cared
Traffic stops
The recollection of loss remains
…
Eight bits of nostalgia
Eight bits of delight
Eight bits of frustration
Eight bits of achievement
Eight bits of fuck all
Fuck you Zelda.
If only
We could all curl into a ball
And escape down hidden paths
Metroid prime,
You ass fucking motherfucker.
psychoanalysethis 