There is a dried petal of that last yellow rose rummaging through;
that yet to be completely unpacked bags.
It bothers me, that the petal finds herself lonely;
more than the fact that my bags are still unpacked as if i am not to stay here any longer!
Oh look! ! ! there it is! ! ! My earrings, have i ever told you what they are?
Did i show you what a skull looks like when i don them and walked on the streets?
This one has a marijuana on it, the same grass we needed to share;