she spoke
with tiny eyes and small fingers.
she fell off her bike in the dirt and gave a strong smile.
it was fake but she threw it at us.
her tongue was strong like a serpent, poisoning us with her rotting phrases on wealth
and personal responsibility.
i told her she was part of the problem.
that i am too.
and so is she
that this masked lounge, washed over in blue
with turntables from the future
playing jazz-electronic
10 dollar appetizers
delicious
stella artois and a sore throat
choking on my own words.
and loving to watch that girl squirm like a worm
hurt but strong
us against her
when i knew i was right
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