Skipping. Skipping along today. Under whatever skies float above whatever situations we create below. You know? The ones we make when we forget to remember that it’s okay to forget to remember a birthday. A day for mirth. Yay!
It’s okay to age alone by the phone. Waiting for a call from a love you never had. So sad.
It’s fine that you’re not mine; this wine helps me pine for a pine box. A shiny pine box that shimmers nothing like your fine locks. And bagel. A sandwich made for a sand witch. Which bagel is which? Hey, that one’s mine, you devious bitch! No sandwich fuh yoo, Foo! Humble pie while you cry. And crow for dessert.
The hurt and the happy are having a nap. We play cards by the window until waves wash up the walls and down the halls.
Hey y’alls, those girls on TV look like rubber dolls. But not for defiling, disrespecting, and dumpstering.
Put your heart in the hands of a lovely, living lady, and there will be no regret for selling two souls short. But sickos like you aren’t worthy, so instead, you murder sad hope smoking forget in an alley.
Hell is something I hope exists for monsters who hurt the lost.
Marmalade on toast provides the most sustenance today. And the darkness of night passes unnoticed while the sleepers close their peepers. Those awake during the hours that are wee are of insufficient significance to describe the night.
They saw the sky pass by, cloaked in grey before the day turned to yellow and blue. Some rain fell too. To water the wet, I bet. But only the lonely were there to witness the weather. And soon they’ll forget.
Tears of joy can be shed after flying. I’m not trying to talk anyone out of a good meal downtown. But hey! been tryin, to eat ya. There must be a perogie between us.
Everything made in this joint is good, but add some cheese, and please!
Geez, Louise!
A summer breeze this way howls. It blows fowls across the sky. Bye, bye, birdies.
I heard it’s nice over Alberta way this time of year. Make it past those mountains and you’ll never be warm enough to get a tan, my man. But white is alright. Just not blue. Hypothermia got you.
Dance to the pants blowing on the line. Then I’ll know you’re mine. Field. Feeled the felt, and my little chocolate brain began to melt. Nothing like the welt I got the time I hung my own little chocolate on the line. But it was fine. Nothing a little visit from a few exquisite angels wouldn’t make right. And they did.
Thanks for the good times and the fine wines, by a fire we set in a room made for electric heat.
Different departments arrived to quench the blaze, and they were amazed by things destined to end up on the front page of tomorrow’s sweet nothing.
Hush, hush, money buys the bus. So tycoons like us can ride whatever we want. Better start walkin’.
Say, mister, you got a sister?
I wish sir, but my sister is kind of a bitch, so I ditched her. No blood in this gene pool is gonna spoil the party I’ve arranged for us smarties.
Get up and get down. Shake those booties till Tuesday. Then get back to that work thing you do. I get paid for taking a brain pooh. Which I often do. So this one’s on me, for free. Honestly.
But really, let’s do this again some time never.
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