All I ever do is waste time. I don’t enjoy it, I just can’t seem to help myself. I do the most ridiculous of things for no reason or else I sit and reason about the ridiculous things I could be doing if I could be arsed to.
The dogs often have a more productive day. I sit and think about all the things I want from life. I want all the good things whereas my partner dreams of a child made out of scones.
A girl made out of scones is tasty, Yet crumbles easily,
Weak and brittle.
I want a girl made out of toffee,
Hard and indestructible,
Appealing, long lasting
And able to break teeth.
Yes, I know it’s crap but I never said I was a fucking poet.
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