checking a blocked blog
before the sun breaks the fog.
My heart ain't worth its weight
in fool's gold,
or so I was told.
By my mother,
who, I have come to know,
was wrong in so many other ways.
A Tokyo Police Club song,
a little time travel,
an afternoon of empty ego.
If someone says
their life is boring,
they are living it wrong.
Because even the worst days
have ways of craze,
and ladybugs exist.
By dinner time,
my heart is a goldmine,
in the chest of a Frankenstein.
And my only crime
is living loud
in a quiet crowd.