cold toilet nostalgia

cold toilets and fruit detergents
nostalgia is emerging
mould on the curtains and the dryer’s not working
I pissed on the seat,
Nobody’s looking.
Someone was in here.
Fucking.
Spoon on the floor for cooking.
A foil johnny rapper,
Its contents elsewhere, imagine, disgusting.
People still make things that insist on rusting.
It drips down the urinal,
Into cakes that are crusting.
They soak up the odour and show you your fluids.
Thank God you’re drunk, think about druids.
Slip on the tiles, for miles to the exit.
Push into the bar and order the next hit.

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