Mountain thyme tea rolled up in seaweed playing the role of a joint (the tiger in the zoo is fine with the life there, he's really OK, Tiger-OK I guess(at the end I was quoting the tiger))

All this time,
reminded of the thyme tea I drank,
as I was talking to you.

And all those stories I've heard,
from liars and thieves,
about you, not being who you say you are.

Can't even drink my favorite beverage,
my mind being leveraged,
by the thoughts of another summer without you.

Another year,
another failure,
mind messed up from beer portrayed as a liquid savior,
yellow at first sight, just like your hair,
mental state gripping tight, as I gasp for fresh air.

Instead of studying,
I'm thinking about this,
talking to myself, getting madly pissed,
boiling blood, just like the hot water,
tea bags replaced by rolling papers as I stutter,
calling out for help,
in this lonely hell.

Mountain thyme tea,
you're so dearly missed,
could this really be,
cause of the girl I never kissed.

These crops won't grow here without WiFi, I need YouTube how to guides / worst harvest

Coming home in a town that I don't know,
wandering through the streets near my house.
Stumble on the concrete torn by the flowers growing up,
forshadowed by the street lights.
Wasting away my days,
thinking about these things,
and I'm lost.

You're gone, and I can't find,
the right words to say,
please stay.
Sit on the balcony, thinking so endlessly,
about the sun rise.
Every new day of the week,
same things that I see,
boring chores,
I do all the time,
here I am,
stranded and stuck.

Cowboy Bebop me on the head

Got your email, found out you were pissed,
I haven't sent you my conference essay yet,
please don't lower my grade,
I need all of my points for free coffees,
at The Fountain Place.
I don't think I can take another walk alone,
to my bus-stop.

All I've written is:
"Don't you worry, my old friend,
I know you're waiting for the end,
but nothing matters when we're dead,
at least that's what Spike has said".

I think my librarian's pissed,
cause I haven't read Hegel's book,
and I've had half a year.
She said "Come on give it one more chance,
I know you don't like this dance,
but you should try it out again."

All I said is:
"Don't you worry about a thing,
Hegel is just a mindless being.
There are better things to do,
than committing suicide.
Cause nothing matters when we're dead,
at least that's what Spike has said"