vi estas vere decepcionante

just because a girl’s pretty
doesn’t mean that she’s smart
there’s no indicator on her forehead
showing the fullness of her brain

you can fling your cigarettes all you want
into the glowing haze of the sun
and call it “aesthetic” and “art”
but it still doesn’t change the fact
that you’re slowly killing yourself

would you die for art?
blacken your lungs to the same shade as your soul
drag blues and greens across your fingers
and reds and oranges across your wrists

and I know what your blank balloons shout
in the dead silence of one in the morning
“these things happen”
whatever happened to self-control


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