7:24
I open the door-
crawl in ur bed
stick my head through the storm window.
Spitting crumbs
into ur backback:
you dump them out on
the old sour patch.
I like it stuck to my skin-
dried and vacuumed.
Bagel breath in the morning.
Borrow my toothbrush
even scrape ur tongue
nothing gets past
the old sour patch.
It sounds bittersweet. like a troubled past that you look at fondly and appreciate that it shaped you the way you are, for the better or worse. Mediumkey