I am tired for this place.
Sinning and pulling me in.
Night and existence.
Of all the times we tried.
I am still up every night.
Writing poems about realtors.
and you.
I see Brooklyn.
And dance.
I see you making that face again.
You were my only crime.
Lately, I've been a good news guy.
But my specialty still is remembering.
and ruining.
dreaming of more sauce for the zoo of you.
You used to be.
That is all that sentence needs.
so don't copy me.
Blogs are bullshit anyway, right?