The Truth Factory

the sun is fat on my face
as I walk to play trivia
with my wayward myself,
somewhere I've never been.

gotta stop next Tuesday
from happening,
because of mainly skin,
my friends got flesh in the wind.

lost and losing,
not sure I want to live life,
but only have poems
and a knife.

love is like flossing
after you've forgotten
for a long while,
just when the guitar slits exclamation marks.