Conjecture and Refutation

   Like it or not we’re gonna find you, eat you up. Sad truth doesn’t make it any less true. Let’s dance. Dance your heart out till you’re bleeding and lost. Can’t seem to make it stick. Stick to your skin like scabs. Peel them off like a child. Giggle and cry don’t know how you feel. Like it’s the end of the world I never grew up. Sent a child in size seven shoes to travel and gape. But they let me on trains, no permission needed, nope. All these places to play is all I ever wanted. But so many scabs. And I keep peeling them off. Sick pleasure doesn’t make it any less of a pleasure.