Cleaning all traces off of my DVD cases.

Not even on the Pulp Fictions or Scarfaces,

The innocents got it too,

All of the remnants of me and you,

Our dust and our crust,

I wiped them down, I wiped all of them down.

Mia Wallace is holding my hand.

Incense is smothering our tobacco dampness.

There was a definite comfort in your presence and your floor,

The shrapnel of us that isn’t there anymore.

Our disheveled attempts out of degeneracy.

You asked to come over for a cuppa but neither of us like tea.

Reprobates; charcoal eyes in a black sky smiles yellow and wide.

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