Quick steps up the wooden stairs,
I only think of confused stares
emanating from your eyes.
I sink deep deep in the sleeping ground.
Creeping clowns and piles of bones
replace warm thoughts and hopeful goals.
I guess all summers turn into cold,
I guess I haven’t won the gold.
I’m a big of a bed bug but I don’t bite.
Slippery ladder under my feet,
I’m climbing and reaching but just can’t keep
up with all the girls and athletes
whose smiles look sincere but cheap.
Beeping cars all look like sharks
they feed me booze when it gets dark.
I swirl with them in their ocean dean
and become mean so I can blend in.
I’m a bit of a bed bug but I don’t bite.