Last In Line

If you continue to push this

She said

And I am forced to choose

You really should be prepared

She said

For the fact I won’t pick you

Cloth Ears

Why would you ask me

A question

If you don’t want to hear

What I say

It really is fucking

Annoying

That you feel you can treat me

This way

The Bake Sale

Bringing
along
your
flask of
coffee

And
your
frosted
homemade
cake

Doesn’t
make you
any more
likeable

Or any
less
fucking
fake

Tick Tock

There’s
nothing more
likely to
piss me off

Than the
metronomic
sound of a
clock

For the
counting
of time as
quantifiable

Mocks me
in a way
that is
undeniable

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