I Heard It In My Teeth

I’ve been looking for something to die for, turns out I’ve been dying to live

I waxed this thought something shiny

And within the forgetting of myself

I found a post it note reading:

We are not for the latter, we are for the unhard boiled Easters

See I found this to mean god is an art form and death is a melting pot

In the immortal words of Daniel Johnston: true love will indeed find you in the end

Nothing is yellow until you squeeze it out in your morning orange juice

Nothing is gone, it’s just someone else

My teeth will never forget their counterparts

I wore your sweater in the shower just to see if your colors could wash off of me

Turns out bleach isn’t real