Miser of the Human Condition

Absolutley
A designated driver
Dying beautiful
In the fire
Absolutley.there's a designated driver. she's dying so beautifully,
in the fires
C R A S H
.and it shows. through clouded white lines
That are eventually snorted up your nose
There’s twelve pounds of me, disolved into air
Then there’s twelve pounds of me, that doesn’t even care
I won’t be crucified for things that i now find mortifying
So, just keep twirling your brown to black hair, a secret sign showing you’re
not there
You’re not really there