When tomorrow comes,
The chapter will end.
Dear you,
How many times can I rhyme
Rhyme with time,
die with try,
doom with bloom,
or blue with you.
I’ll run out of lines.
Out of spines.
I’ve never known a proper goodbye,
But may this be my finest try.

When asked of home I’ll make a stop,
To talk about this lovely shop.
I stumbled in off the corner of lost and fucked.
Fresh out of love and a job that sucked.
An immature writer with too much to say,...