Crumbles
I walk away on Tinder Smelling thousands of megabytes That could give me a blister or two Of some blessed LSD dreams.
I sleep and these are not my dreams But the ones of a free mind That kept you for years With a secret of suspense.
Every marriage is a dirty bag Of a sleepy woman or man That dreams to get free and sit in a chair chill.
A prisoner with no Windows Be it '95 or 2000 It is still the grief calling Of a very disturbed individual.
And everything is old and filthy, Only a version of myself, A detour around a city That once crumbled.