Do you have a spare gun?
For plastic kisses
On damp cheeks.
I remember when I cried for things like this,
When I cried for things like you.
And the moon was staring
The night when I stopped caring.

This weekend it will not end
We fill ourselves with beer and bread
An put our clothes up on the bed post
So that our hearts will break together
And then what he will say,
Is what blackened out my Saturday.

The long striped socks and candy hearts
Between the bullet holes and stained sheets
“so what, it always ends!”
This is what the sluts are used to.