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Click hereyou pretended to love
all my music
and then you moved to the other hut
where the jazzx was
and then the classy shit
you say, "no diff, what's the diff?"
I barf
Mine was ready for you and my mac and cheese too
and you were over there on your hiney back side
smiling
leaving an imprint of your ass tattoo
on his sheets and his wife's knee highs
rubbed in and rubbed during the game
This poem was selected from Lit's archive of over 39,000 poems for inclusion in today's Archival Review.<br>
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