The Kid Who Broke His Wrist

 

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cemeteries don’t seem the same since
Summer had her hands on my ribs and
I was underneath
hours spent inside of that vision
bend to hours spent inside televisions
hours aren’t unique

the kid who broke his wrist
couldn’t use it to make a fist
couldn’t use it to cover up a combination
from valentine
who valiantly reacted to the odd scene
of his prized one’s closet kissing confrontation

and that Saturday
won’t go away
if its gone tomorrow won’t you let me lay
in a lake with both our latent wantings

no prom
go to mom
or at least her medicine it’s strong
write a song called ‘summer brings you closer to satan’
and tell them ‘mids don’t mean shit’
when your stuff’s chemically legit
you’re faking art, you’re fall apart
now you’re in the party

and those sadder days
won’t go away
if I’m wrong tomorrow won’t you let me lay
in your head
cause I’d be dead if you saw me

the kid who broke his wrist
couldn’t use it to make a fist
couldn’t use it to cover up his marks
his fated heart

or really much of anything

 
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