gluten free.

"And if we get beaten by this winter,
If we get strangled by regret, just
Let our love of life and tension
Gasp in sweet and stuttered breaths, and
Have them lay us in a basement,
Smash some bottles on the ground, and
Say we never knew the difference
between the feeling and the sound."

How do I even retain such knowledge, perhaps I ought to stay away from here and go to college. You’re a dirty rotten liar, I’m a dirty rotten thief, let’s all just sing pretty tunes about our covetous desires, and admire, close our eyes and go to sleep. In a willow tree, oak tree, sapling, seed, we return to the roots of what we used to be, don’t discriminate the flowers from the weeds, because dandelions are as pretty as a humble bumble bee, I’m rhyming against timing, I should really be in bed, on the verge of becoming an insomniac I feel spacey in the head, so cry me a river, weep me a lake, jump a puddle, now I’m muddled as I repeat myself, FOR GOODNESS SAKE!

someone said to me today that rhyming isn't classy, then they slapped me. it was quite amusing...

you licked your lips and lit a new cigarette, you said you'd cut down to a pack a day, and i smiled at the thought of all the things we would regret if we took the plunge and decided not to shy away from all these hidden feelings, tensions we like to ignore, so they build up deep inside us, and require special attention. i once imagined how i'd kiss you, in the midst of all the sound, we'd be outside in the cold and there'd be no one else around, but then you winked
your baby blues and called me 'baby', sending shivers down my spine, and so i shook off all the nonsense, someone later told me that it wasn't classy to rhyme.

"& when we're dead, let our voices carry on...to find a better song and sing along."