The phone rings, no it doesn’t. It vibrates, once and a while. And I engage myself with a petty, wasteful moment; to be cool, to be a psycho. Tomorrow I’ll be nobody again.

I could open my mouth, but some bug would fly in.

That’s a good lesson to eventually forget.

Thin and crooked, think and plump

The nose has spoken

Why did they both lose control?

Is it hot, is it cold?

My body doesn’t know

neither does the schizo weather.