Maybe you'll remember me
And maybe I'll put your photo on Facebook
For you to see.
Or maybe I'll drink myself to the moon.
And maybe you'll care
But more likely you'll delete my profile
And maybe I'll die soon.
Great times, by the way,
Those ones I suffered a lifetime ago.
And great times, great times yesterday -
Not that you know.
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I'm rehearsing the words in my mind,
And polishing them up with shoeshine,
But I know, come the moment,
I'll step on York Beach,
And ruin them all,
And she'll delete my number,
Before she goes.
Spooky juice is coming. Maybe.
It's my ambition to break the internet, with Graham Pronk's help. I'm backing myself, like I back a limping dog with a dicey leg in a greyhound race.
I think this is shit, and thst's before I've read "Comment". God help us.
I realise this is me, by the way. That's the fun.
Hang on - who am I?
Leaving comments is the future. I have lots to say.
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