My biscuits take on butter and my coffee takes on cream.
I’m bored with modern culture, and here I hold the scream.
I am curious and embarrassed to wonder what is next.
Like all anticipation when I’m waiting for her text.
She loves me but I’m doubtful, I know she has a fear.
I’m thinking about dying and there’s nothing quite that clear.
In a world of hope and wonder, there is something almost sad.
Like narcissists self importance when only mirrors are the fad.