It’s one of those weird sunny days.
A grumpy morning, some pointless scrolling, no coffee and no keys.
We go, the sun is cooler, and she doesn’t need suncream.
He’s okay, but the balcony is far, I can’t see his bruises.
The doctor smiles and says how beautiful we are. I hate myself but she’s more than gorgeous, just like you.
Then we queue. Just bought a pen. More papers. Screams. They go in front of us. Who cares about the line?
Feel lazy to work, to talk, to host a dinner. Can’t even rhyme.
He says the Sky is nice but what I’m thinking is what we are waiting and why this line of life!