By the End of April

National Poetry Month.
And a girl with a mouth.

Too many animalistic neon blinking days.
And all I really want is to sink.

Like the SS Copenhagen.
I have history buried under sea.

Coming and going.
Completely looking towards the horizon.

Attach my words to something.
So I sing. Absurd.

Life's just lonely.
Come apart.

Now I let sugar melt me.
And listen to old Tokyo Police Club songs.

Put a scar on my hand.
It will say KJ, for some noon iced coffee reason.