AS WITH MOST THINGS, I BLAME MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE

if you called me right nowit would haunt every poem I will ever writeor have ever writtenthus is my limited understanding of the fluid nature of timebased largely on reruns and the ringing in my ears after the rock showmouthing into the reverb like breathingto call me pretty whilst I puke Dark Fruits into a patch of nettles in a sad layby&if you asked me right nowI don’t think I’d ever need to eat or write anythingeverever again