when the suns got you feeling 

the opposite of ecstatic gladness

if you could snatch and bag this 

feeling it’d be labeled toxic

spent half of your check 

at the clearance rack of Hot Topic

this is more somber and dry then

a boring old film or a dusty biopic

about some guy you’ve never heard

of and could honestly give less than a sh** about

kiss her hard before you go

just so she don’t forget and so she knows

that even if she’s not the one, she’s golden

where’s the summertime classics like the olden

days when our grandparents wore leather boots

and poked each other with steel blades

instead of chilling down in the Florida glades? 

the next one she said “you don’t spend time like you used to” 

and I’m like “You don’t kiss me like you used to” 

well you don’t use me like you used to

my heart’s not abused like it’s used to

what’s got these feelings changed and glued 

to a board full of honesty and trust

where’s your fire boy? where’s your lust? 

your steel blade is all rusty and your hair

is getting dusty and grey and you’re aging

and the times they are a-changin’ 

people are scrolling they are left paging

like reading a book they’re left pacing

at the end of this novel i’m writing 

just keep the idea that I’ll be in the sky

i’ll be up in the sky all around y’know skydiving

and you’ll be on the ground half-living