Soup

when reason makes a trip to the other side, we slip under the cover, swim in the towns tide. let go just to discover how little we know about each other, how often we avoid each others eyes. its like hail on our backs. were digging up nothing but broken bones. we determine too much over the telephone. its like stale laughter and fake smile soup. this tastes like ****. you taste like **** sometimes. youd be more fun if you werent so afraid of getting a little salt in your eyes.