loves lives olives

we cannot develop
or where would the story be?
i was a green olive
i am a black olive
they taste a little different
but the hammer has no tongue

love is confused with fuck
it’s a drama swingdoor
and STDs are only there when drama’s needed
back-alleys, marital beds, and anywhere
the distortion of a storybeat
nothing can be sweet or neat

everything ends in defeat
victory is never complete
everyone has wandering feet