d. c.

i'm reachin' for your carribean
but you're too far away
i smell your sweet and sour minute,
and wish that you could stay,
but when it's cold the cab fare's double
and the bitch I'm with is dumb.
old and wise minus the wisdom
but i'll still pull out a plumb

darkness lit by technology
our paths chose us instead
that's my plea. it's misery.
the fleas have left my bed.
but scars and bites are memories,
of a home without a heart.
pillows without cases,
creaking boards that fell apart.

liberation, freedom,
and the occasional bad rash,
a year without a padlock,
and a yard full of dead grass
stress, debt, an empty fridge
and growing up today,
toeing the line, at least somewhat,
between Hell and Hell-to-pay.