H8E MATH

Like a fingerprint in the rain,

Erasing history before

It takes place. On a plane

My mind finds space in between 

junk mail And your Mother’s funeral.

The clock ticks, like my brain

Trying to make sense of this

Math equation. Who needs math

For a fucking art degree anyways?

When paint peels back like the

Skin of an orange on a hot day,

I begin to cry. The cold takes 

away the bad memories we just made.