Mon Vert

 Literal as I go Lukewarm As birds sit  Perched on electric lines I laugh at my mistakes As if I'm one  With them Stumbling Drunk I dream lifting my hands  Up Running in circles (loneliness is a crime) As cars pass by me Pass by the soju bottle The white lines  Are no longer straight And the skin Is lukewarm Do I have to hold my arms close  I start mumbling to myself Talk of the wind  The clips of hair Between the branches (Art is a crime) Fictional  The bus is no longer Waving at me  Bye Goodbye! I confess I confess alot because there is great loneliness That follows All round I've missed it Painting good lies Yellow lights Parks  that meant more  In the dream Dreamt next to me Everything can be bought Everyone noticed Everything easy is bought  everything bought Is easy easy so am I.