Vanilla Vine by Sweet Harm

Always choking the windchime, stealing songs from the breeze. Staring down the sunrise until our eyes can’t see. Without a plan to open up the can we’ll be clawing at the label, gnawing the aluminum. We’ll be letting the kite fly without a string. Keep on adding salt to the brine. Keep coming in before the beat. Swallow the frying pan before the dinner was done. Balloon kissed by a straight pin. What a bust a blast can be. A bitter bite through the plum’s skin and didn’t wait until the fruit was sweet. Saw the plans now we’re drilling through our hands. In a rush to put the boards up never poured the foundation. Made a few false claims to maintain the buzz. Now the shame remains, it’s a haunting hum. Set to spike the vein with a sugarcane trying to reach the rush. Collapsing features, a creature crashing into dust. Playing the game with house funds, hit on twentyone and bust. Don’t climb that vanilla vine.

• Punk
• New York