Minced outside, living in an oven.
Scalding, never hear a sound,
skip back to Good Lovin’.
Fried inside, living like a parrot.
Balanced, recycling their words.
Would you like a carrot?
He skips back, thinking there was truth in that.
Took their time sprinting, laying down the tracks.
Recent old ways forging footprints toward the past,
wondering when will this place get better?
Walk outside because there’s nothing left inside
to get out.
What’s better even mean right now?
Spilled outside, slipping on a weekend.
Floats grow, conjuring old jokes,
smiles and knees are weakened.
Stuck inside, slipping on an own mess.
Written, deciphering heart.
Quiet and beats, the best.
Stuck inside, and it’s outside, it’s living in an oven.