The Happiness State


If happiness is a state, I’ve never been. Hear the capital’s a beauty, a metropolis of sin. Carnal or otherwise, the streets are alive, preaching Jesus and the like, his second coming on a bike out of nineteen ninety one.

Yeah, I’ve never been near the coasts but I broke my tolerance for them on brochures, if only to get a sight of her.

I hear comfort is a city and heartbreak, its slums, buses groaning by and sidewalk bubblegum courting my shoe’s bottom. Led to believe love is a landmark melting in hot sun, shootings in the distance and a public which shrugs its beauty off.

So snapshot your moments, as a bended knee proposes town square seagulls evacuate and euphoria down your face erodes the need to wait for one more reason.

If happiness is so second-rate, we’d not have named cities after its pursuit, a seaside paradise…

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