There are crisps
blackened in that glass pan, three days
bathing in that soapy water I
have since sprinkled with baking soda
but folly feels you up
See, I see the way you look at him
it’s a romance I never thought I’d
have to endure
your mind so dredged in his alluring
but folly smacks you down
the moment you almost stand back up
it’s a case of intolerance I can hardly
bear it. Ha. So, I sit here making
jokes of your wit. His attraction makes
me sick. Are your glasses foggy girl?
but folly whistles you back inside as
you tried to take those black bags down the back stairs.
Trash sits. I take it out, yeah, those
seven bags. I know I shouldn’t of done it
but, hey, I’m nice and they were
feeling a little light. With a big gaping hole,
but folly. He would fill it.