Chatter Static
Can’t focus
Can’t think
Patience is a worn thread
Logic’s on the brink
Static chatter never ceasing
drama for the fool
Baby boys in aging skin
drunken in their drool
Get me the fuck out of here
I’m done with Peter Pan
These Lost Boys surely earned their name
in no man’s Neverland
Yet, here I sit, behind a door
steaming by myself
These pests will test the best of me
A danger to my health
There’s solace in the old ink spill
A practice that I’ll prove
But still, before I lose my mind
I need to fucking move
.
.
.
