Cigarettes, Boys, And Movies

speed of spit a little slower
that’s the spot below the fulcrum
where the wrist will prop me up
pounds of rocks inside the pockets
silverware stuck in the sockets, light me up and make a firework
cigarettes, boys, and movies no longer mean nothin to me
tell me when we got so old
cuts both ways across, so sell it back at cost
and wonder your mother would she cry if she knew what you gave up
shuck and jive right in the face of everyone who’s got a case of
something that could hurt you too
disrepair and demolition start at home inside the crawlspace
where they learned to be that way
now i can feel the life slip
out of me
with repetition
cigarettes, boys, and movies no longer mean nothin to me
tell me when we got so old