Like honey that drips.
Honey that mind is blown to bits.
Money that slips into minds of wimps.
Honey that binds fingertips.
Honeycomb is that dial tone. Honey is never coming back home.
The ongoing investigation of destination lay-low.
Years ago tears will flow.
Industrial relations of hair growth.
2021 unknowing north face bummy.
21 year old with an overgrown tummy.
Horns blown forgetting who they care for.
Grandma raises a glass, cuz it might be her last.
Parasite cost more than a mega bite.
The writing of our generation.
Written down on this sheet of paper.
Brief words yet compelling.
Not too much to say though.
Looking around, Christmas is near.
It doesn’t feel like it.
Culture is the asphalt we step on.
Hear that horn?
We are born to die.
To be reborn to die.