I'm eccentric, excessive and extremely entertaining.

I'm exceptional, expressive and enjoy when I'm explaining.

I'm enlightened, enthralling with an elevated ego.

Everything is edible and edits make things credible but evidently excellence is all I ever eat though.

Incase of cases of curiosity; it's best to believe it's both a blessing and a curse to survive as some cool kid.

I'm regularly rolling around in smoke; the crystal ball says I'm clearly no cruel kid.

I've lived and I've learned and I learn while I live like the youngest of oldest of school kids.

Avoiding a lot doesn't make me a rude kid.
Looking up-top just makes me blue quick; and looking down-low just makes me too sick.

I'll admit it, I'll admit it - I love being a cool kid.

I don't want to be tough.
I'm too sharp to be rough.
I'm ecstatic and emphatic even more than enough.
I'm not even lying, this is barely a bluff.
I'm a big bad wolf without the huff and the puff.
I'm a rebellious hipster horrified of handcuffs.
I hate that I hate when I have the hiccups.
My mind is a medley that's made when mixed up.
I'm convinced that confessions crystal-clear **** up.
You could say "**** it" but I'd say "it's ******".

Women and money make the world go round.
Gravity grips all the greats to the ground.
Poetry properly packs a pound.
Fighting is futile some research was found.
Sanity speaks without making a sound.

Last but not least - seriously, stick around - Magic's my tailor so my suits are spellbound.

Women and money make the world go round.
Gravity grips all the greats to the ground.
Poetry properly packs a pound.
Fighting is futile some research was found.
Sanity speaks without making a sound.

Last but not least - seriously, stick around - Magic's my tailor so my suits are spellbound.

It isn't funny how I think I know what's what.

The irony is, I'm sculpted to survive as either a saint or a ****.

It isn't funny how I think I know who's who.

The irony is, I'm the GOAT among sheep and this life is Zeus's zoo.

It isn't funny how I think I know where's where or why's what the way it is when it is what it is.

The irony is, I'm making my story not 'His'.

I'm forever ******* followed by the stains made by my magic lamp.

I'm a rebel and a role model like rolling ****** down a ramp.

I'm wide awake while dreaming wet when days insist on being damp.

I'm a lad that loves a lady like that dog called 'The *****'.

I'm a dog that doesn't drown.
I'm a faker without a frown.

I'm too lost to be found.
I'm a king without a crown.

I'm not a fan of the ground.
I'm not sane but I'm sound.

I find it easy to be loud.
I'm not perfect but I'm proud.

If ever one meats with any metaphorical meaning in my mind, one will notice its medium-rarity.

Maybe even ponder inside its pans (or puns) playing poultry to its poetry.

Better yet, one would willingly fish for feelings and try to fry (or fly) playing poultry to its potency.

Mealtime; one will move on from the meeting thereafter, with the sort of sensation in one's stomach that's abnormally associated with winged insects.

By then, it would have been a ravishing rendezvous, remebered without rue; tummies would have been filled too.

A moment made mainly with a mixture of magic as well as a dab of madness - an exhibition of eloquent intent, like eating expensively at an elegant event.

Does one get it?
Coz if one doesn't; I DEE GEE A Sugar Honey Ice Tea.

I'm me.
I'll get over myself when you get over it.

I'm me.
I'm a rolling stone on some boulder ****.

I'm me.
I'd be ****** if I gave a ****.

I'm me.
I'm a man with a plan and I plan to be 'The Man'.

My genes have been generous; I could never be general or generic.

My DNA is demonic.
My attitude is angelic.

My genes have been generous; being a Genie is genetic.

I seem to succumb to the sound of solipsism; it's been sinking in slowly and securely.

I pick pleasures that pay off when played off; I'm prone to plan games precisely and purely.

I slay some with what I say and sing songs I shouldn't sing; one should see my sincerity, surely.

I pack plenty of pride in a persona made of paper; I'm a plane without a pilot that took off prematurely.

My woes make me whimsy.
My doubts makes me dubious.
My conundrums make me clumsy.
My fears make me furious.

See the thing is, there was never a master plan.
But what there was and always is, is the thought of the devil.
And how he is not a He, but a She on other levels.
Rock bottom is even bolder, no sign of a pebble.

My history has a heart.
The pulse of my past puts feeling in my future.

My legend has a life.
The end of my existence is the birth of my bible.

My myth has a moral.
The story of my sins is a message for the masses.

My being has a brain.
The inside of my intel is the home of my humanity.

I'm going mad holding in my ferocious feelings.

You're the fish I'm reeling.

I'm going mad holding my voice in a vault.

I'm not a stallion, I'm just a colt.

I'm going mad holding candles.

It's you I wanna handle.

I know you're prettier than the sunset, because when I see one, I think of you seeing it with me.

I know you're more beautiful than life itself, because when I live it, I yearn to live it with you.

I know you're more gorgeous than the girls I come across, because when I talk to them, I wish they were you.

I know you're the loveliest of souls, because when I fall in love, I want it to be with you.

I know you're more captivating than comic books and cartoons, because when I read and watch it all, I'm wishing it's with you.

I know you're happier than most, but still I wanna make you happier.

I know you're adorable, because I can't help but wanna keep you in my arms, and hold you so tight I can feel your heartbeat.

I know you're alone, but you don't have to be lonely.

I know you're a work of art, because as the artist that I am I could never stop admiring you.

I know you're just a girl, but I'm just a boy looking to be your world.

I've literally lost count of how many visits you've paid to my land of dreams. I swear I'm going mad, because reality isn't what it seems.

I sound delusional, I sound insane. But I blame you, though I know I'm still the same.

I think of you when I'm awake, I think of you when I'm away. ******, I think of you when I work, when I write, and when I play.

Your eyes are made of magic; a magic too powerful to push, a magic so simple it's difficult to spell. I can't help but picture us in heaven together, and alone in Hell.

I've seen you smile, and I've seen you laugh. I've seen you stroll and I've seen you run. I smile when you smile, I chuckle when you laugh, I stare when you stroll, and I chase when you run. And even though I'm not the first, I'm determined to be the one.

Every time I hear your name, my insides grow twisted. Every time I hear your name, I can't help but despise the distance.

The way I feel is unimaginable, I'm unable to word it all. The way I feel is undeniable, I'm unable to disperse it all.

I could write all day, and write all night, admiring the art that is you. I could think all day, and dream all night, believe me it's true.

I'll admit that I'm a little bit in love. I'll admit that I'm a little bit crazy. I'll admit that in my mind lives a white dove. I'll admit that you're the prettiest little daisy.

I'll admit you make me hazy. I'll admit you make me high. I'll admit that I'm lazy, but never too lazy to try.