"How have you been?"
Yes, I hate my voice too.
With your self-sufficient smile,
narrow minded and slightly drunk,
you pass me by,
slowly enough to see my practiced indifference.
If I could, if I had a way with words,
maybe I would have given you
something to dream about.
But, here I am, hiding behind a bottle of beer
and setting my frustration on fire,
pretending I light a cigarette.
I'm speechless,you're drunk by now-
we'd make such a nice pair,
but I hate the way you look at me.
This is
not good enough,
I'm not drunk enough.
...
Oh, and I don't like your shirt.
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