Broken hearts!
And shit
And cupid
And red.
And the smell of sex rotting my bed.
And the pretty girls.
All of them
Like, everywhere.
With their fairytale hair. Why is there always a breeze to make them look beautiful?
I’ve eaten better bratwurst than your penis
And those screams were for want of better meat
And mustard.
Oh, and a poppy seeded bun.
I take back all the babes
I babbled your way.
And there might be sugar in your gas tank.
And you always said I was so sweet.
Just to be nice, I’ll name my next bratwurst after you.
