You’re a know nothing,
I can see it from the inside of your teeth chattering,
And the hollow that haunt your head
Let’s put your brain in a crock pot, and see seeps out,
Swirl things around like irridescent cracked chalk encircling a toilet bowl,
Smearing the paste on paper and tear through it by slamming your fist shut on your ex-girlfriend,
Leaving feelings as empty as the most gussied up greeting card,
At the most delightfully (artificial) card store,
Where they manufacture holidays from pulp and toothpicks,

We both blanket and shiver,
But I know mine are ebbing; on the decline,
And you wake up screaming like a petulant single mother,
Whose child just scrawled a sunburst of crayons all over the berber-colored-walls,
Embedded with that tight grain for scraping elbows and denting for thrown women (maybe her),
Hate to make predictions, but this one’s gonna end like my fifth birthday party,
Tired, alone, at Chuck-E-Cheese’s, with handfulls of worthless tickets you can cash in…
For a nerf football. How fitting.