underwhere

i am poor...
i guess that happens though...

i spend money, i don't work enough because i'm lazy, and... ummm.... there was an and, but i don't remember what it was... oh well...

and now for a poem... of sorts...

flowers on a grave

why?
why do we
celebrate death
with death?

long stem roses litter
her
casket and her pale
skin shines through
green and velvety
dark purple

i remember
the first time
i gave her a
flower
and she asked
before she kissed
me.

why?
why do we
celebrate life
with death?


the end. i'm sorry if you actually read that...

the end... toodle-loo