My hands are green

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Chunks of whistling waters

He is always gone

Chunks of the softest slumbers

He is convinced that I am the only one

 

I’d hate to pester you with my regret

You’d be so awfully upset

That my head’s a bed and I try to resurrect but instead stay erect like a refugee of sleep

Then I forget that my meds are dead and I daydream of becoming a newlywed instead I end up as a speck of envy

I’m so tired and my hands are green

 

My hands they are green

not from the greed but from the constant deep

I hate the color

They don’t mean to be green

I’m in love with your lover

He’s the only vaccine I need

 

I cant stand this constant resent but I don’t like you or your death

Your sorrow is more like a debt and I keep getting my green hands wet with this

Now give me a wallmart kiss

I don’t mean this in a hallmark xoxox twist

I’m upset because the whistling waters don’t know much more than this

The bed of which I sleep in comfy kind sheets is a hit and miss and it’s

Gone

Your teachers are freaks

Your preachers are wrong

Your believers are weak

Your religion is the same 12 year old pop song

Your shoes are plastic your ideas aren’t concrete

You can’t sing and you don’t have beat

You don’t like the world because you’d rather be asleep

Because you hate knowing you haven’t been handed your dreams

You hate knowing this world isn’t your fantasy

As you fall lower into this epitome of self esteem

A pit of me is drowning as you see this entire time my hands were green

3 thoughts on “My hands are green

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