School Vending Machine:
The vending machine is out of order
at least that's what the taped up sign said.
Maybe its just the anxiety disorder,
there's just a restless feeling from words scribbled in red
Jumbled voices could be mistaken for a gunshot.
It's probably best for the sign to be on the vending machine
there're too many choices, I don't want chips to be "flamin hot,"
when my tongue is dangerously dripping with gasoline.

Forgetting My Lip-balm:
The smile sealed my fate,
my hesitant lips turned red,
all I tasted was shark bait
as my chapped smile bled.

My Retainer:
Reality tends to rearrange
as weekends spent on the floor,
crooked Sundays feel strange
when there're no smiles anymore
but fighting the constant change
only makes my jaw sore.