Hi Tops

Sway across the dance floor

in hi top Converse and a matching black dress,

mic in your left hand,

too beautiful for my own good.

Thoughts speeding through my head

like tourists on the Autobahn,

drunk on infatuation.

Make me forget all of the bullshit,

the years of circular nothingness

and back-alley backstabbing

by a blue-haired bitch,

a homeopathic harlot.

Hold my hand and poke fun

while I ramble on about retro video games

and 90s rock.

Wrap me in your Charm.

Steal my sleep.

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