flask

mister Flask,

we've weaved ourselves perfect and can't lift a finger, yearning for a jump-scare but too tired to care,

until you come along and dare us to be,

through sarcasm that stumbles in so suddenly-

at that moment, this rawness in the crease of your eye reveals itself on the sly through a trivial joke,

exposing the two inch carpet stuck to the floor.

your self-mockery breaks the ventilation system,

layers of cotton spew out from cracks in the wall,

our seats are on the floor

now i think it doesn't matter what happens after that

it's like, you're so real

i think we all need that

we all really need that.