you go to work at night aching to somebody else’s ends and we build up steam from the week to wanna drink at the bar on a wednesday
you get off work now at ten i i lay in your twin bed till then whigging out at the moon overhead
we laugh in the culdesack telling off you new boss in honda subcompact and even in our big fantasies we’re still employed, settled down, pushing onward
driving out to stephen’s last show, never saying this shit anymore rolling on beneath the moon here as one
stuck in my apartment now, regretting all of the leveled costs of the dumb move i made here how the hell could i possibly think that heading out on my own would feel powerful?
slurring off in this bed that i’ve made (ad)mitting first hand to complacency sounding like sarah’s moon overhead