monksta

you bubblegum wrapper girls
turn your noses at air brushes
running your fingers through
siamese or was it serotonin overloads

we all collapse empires;
it takes only three bottles to fall out.

you curve roads with your fingers
and take over little villages with
such simple single words
as "no" and "fault"
that even our earthquakes are no match
for Mother Nature's power.

I have felt the wrath
of some pixie winged lady
many times over coffee cups,
over bad mixtape car rides,
and untied shoe yelling matches,

no country stands behind me
during these games.

Collapse your arms into that pose
you so deftly keep track of,
and scrunch your nose
you seem so fond of portraying
the villian in a movie where
there are no heroes.

I am tired of spitting out my gum
and you have given me no reason
to taste my food better

so take out your little journals
and write about fucking and boys
and all the delirious little things
that run through your head
as you ruin lives one brick at a time

even soap operas have a shelf life,
and you are soured by now.