It's a thin, fragile book
you would keep in a desk
the cover is elegant
and the pages, a mess
In black and red ink
stories scribbled and scrawled
and the ones that burn most
are the ones most recalled
Not a scratch on its surface
no smudges or stains
but the paper still aches
a hunger in its veins
This book is a map
and if you look closely
it resembles a heart
so worn, almost ghostly.
So if I am to lose you
let me lose quickly
don't erase it too slow
when I've loved you so dearly.
There's a party in the penthouse
where people come and go
admission is free and based on nothing
and if you go once, you'll never truly leave.
It's not hard to get in, but you won't be invited
Listen to my tale of woe
from the olden days
Sir Jack, he was a nobleman
who worked in all the trades.
The Queens, they all adored him
for he never missed croquet
the Kings called him for gin and rum
Half a turkey burger
add cheese
I want salad and fries
plus ketchup
and a cup of buttered noodles
because why should I have to choose
are you writing this down?
A drink, yes
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