i’m sick of this.
countless sticky fumblings in the backseat of
daddy’s car
pointless new experiences each brand new
in the same way
i’m tired of this
pretending pretensions
between you and me that
you’re still who you think you are
and i’m still too dumb to notice
you’re sick of me
sick of that provided stereotype
that is all the world can see of us
sick of what is beneath it
sick of this true love
you’re tired of this
automatic humanity
ex dues ex machina
executed executively in
exclusive excursions.
