Wheels and wheels and wheels

The curvature of your back is too much.

If this is my last thought then I’m golden.

Can we switch the clocks back again?

Can we double up on the Vicodin?

You can apply the pressure as we spin and spin.

I will come out of this as dry as summer, I swear.

Where did summer go?

How am I to know?

Are you more robust than before, she asked?

Can we bare the wait of a storm, in parts?

Let’s climb aboard, as we’re here.

It’s pricey but I fancy a spin, my dear.

The candy-floss is just a blur of pink.

My nausea just craves the kitchen sink.

The lights glitter in the endless grey

and for some reason I miss just how we’d sway.

The sounds are subsided and that’s a good thing, right?

The wheels are slowing, I guess.

Find me by the exit, when you’re done;

the queues are getting far too long.



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