Two-hundred and Eighteen: Avocado Soul

banana, peeled, not yet brown
clean clothes unironed
the old smiles of Paris

dirty promises scattered
stolen imaginations
there’s no make-up
for this sort of thing

forks are too blunt
fuck this stunted youth

avocado soul
still green

wet wet wet
or so it seems

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Published by

Alexia

I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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