960

spitting up blood
on our hands
praise
praise

spitting up blood
on our hands

what a difference
better than spit

let’s bury the addicts
in the backyard
and drown
in their stash of vodka

everybody

spitting up blood
she said
we’re the mean ones

but the blind
don’t care anyway

so

so so

–

in a blanket
watching me shave

never

–

got it now

postcard romance
in some stupid hotel
that’s our honeymoon
printed on our arms
a tattoo
of the fights
we had for love
that