Everlong

1/1/24

The orchids in my room are plastic balls.
My best friend’s a boy and I love his mom.
I tend to flex my flaws off and on ––
never linger on what went wrong
‘cause then the empty space grows everlong,
and gone are the days, I yawn.

I used to sing to no response,
but now I forgot the song.
And the moon says things beyond
the dark, like symbols of skin
burnt off the smell of sunblock.

So trail off to another accord —
I’ve got mine, you’ve got yours —
and when we meet again,
I’ll shake your hand
and ask if the days ever came back.