The dehydrated working class poet. Not afraid to admit I'm wrong. Just hard being wrong for so long.
Saturday, 2 November 2019
alone tonight.
There is one more scratch,
An one more reason to forget,
Another cliche,
Another reason to look away.
Too close to the bone as we have all been there.
So maybe we should leave that scratch alone tonight
I like dancein on tables and gettin drunk, drunk enought to fall and stumble, to know im lost and feel its ok to mumble. time takes to long so im tryin to express how i feel. but the question is always there is any of this real?
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