while ghostwriting roast jokes
and gaining three hours
on my way to LA
via Denver
to eat and drink and not relax,
I rock back and forth.
my nerves are high,
but the sunset on Sunset
will rejuvenate me
even though I am nobody.
I was wild and hungry and scared
at the passing time,
still am,
and she flossed my teeth
like she was mad at me,
and called it a day.
for a hundred sparks,
I am built for the cold,
I regret to admit,
so when we call it a holiday,
but for a hundred losses,
we can also call it a tragedy.
bite my lip and shut my tongues,
but something about this doesn't
feel like an accident,
so when will the thousand and thousands of miles omg my heart
turn into confidence?
hoping good comes from good,
hoping good comes from kissing your skull,
don't make fun of me,
because my gold won't be able to take your silver,
and now I have to go to monologue town,
and it's not even January.