you do know the sea is green, not blue, right?
black boxes are orange, arabs are caucasian
and my eyes are blue not red
ever after your styled fignernails scraped them bloody
and my tears hurt for months.
the stains still aren't out of my pillow.
follow the yellow brick road
so-coloured from late night urinating
find the end of the midsummer rainbow
and realise that gold is just a fantasy
and there are more important things than perfection to chase
down little alleyways and hairdresser's haunts
you'd sleep in dustbins it it got you to holywood
correction: you'd sleep with somebody.
is that why you tugged at my coat
and collapsed rather cliched at my feet
and conveniently forgot to apologise?
cleavage isn't the answer to all of life's problems
just to a spotty adolescent boy who can't stand up straight
unfortunately, no, fuckoffyoutightlittlebastard
isn't in the dictionary.
that won't stop you mouthing off though
just remember
one day wrinkles will catch up with you.
