The things you say don't even pass halfway through my head

No, ‘cause I’ve already heard everything you have to say

It used to fester in my mind every single stupid day

A broken wind chime I hear them less and less each time the wind blows

No, it doesn’t really hurt me anymore

Not like it used to; back when I ripped and I tore

At the spaces in my head filled with loathing and regret

I don’t just sing the blues, I swallow them

Throw ‘em to the back of my throat in three’s and two’s

But I guess that dryness in my throat is better than the last one

I bet if you read this you’d say it was dumb

“You could have done better than that. Not all poems have to rhyme”

AA, BB… itch