The boy that’s never been on any guest list
Might have sent me a thought in this moment
As the phone vibrates in my pocket
While I carry groceries in both hands
Anticipated
It’s him, must be
hope to be
hope to be
Can’t be
Why would it?
The arms of sweat
Holding the bags in union
With running legs
And running mind
He once said: ”jealousy isn’t love”
I said: ”you’re right”
What is love then?
I said: ”you’re right”
What is love then?
Anticipation?
Or illusion?
Or illusion?
But he did say that I
Was fly and marriable
Why then now
Be so suddenly
Ununderstandable?
The boy that’s never been on a guest list
Is a riddle in the illusion of my future
Family photo
Allthough
Probably
He’s been on many other family photos
He gave me crabs that bastard
From matresses of sex home-grown
I anticipated his text
Arrived the moment when my
Glands can’t allow the
Lungs to breathe
Cause it hurts of the fact
Unseen by this masochist hope
It wasn’t his thought
It was an invitation for a party
He gave me crabs that bastard
I anticipated him.
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