Latest Article|September 3, 2020|Free
::Making Grown Men Cry Since 1992
Alibi
\
1 min read
there’s a smell coming from the southwestit blows northand it ain’t leavingso while you wake up on the porch witha french pressthe air isn’t crispit’s afraid shuddering in fear of the nuclear explosion that will kill us allbut you don’t remember they’re down thereas you burn your lipeven though that smell seeping out of the sandis coming for you
you see globs of thickcolored oilwhen you think of artsome of these fuckerswrite about those globsothers about naturethings that just existthe back of my eyeswhen I can’t thinkget slathered with that brown and greenoilnot sure what that tells mebut I know it when I’m wiping the inside ofmy skull outit’s because I couldn’t hear the truthit’s hard to hear what the truth sounds likewith all these people looking down on youbut take comfort knowingthey’ve probably never heard of it.