My poetry is nothing but half-sense
Incaffeinated run off sentences
The result of a rushing mind,
Drained from windful mornings in the surf,
The tide beating against my board and my body,
By the time you walk out the ocean
You're exhausted,
And your brain is too fried to think about work the next morning,
Or the guy who keeps leading you on,
Or going out to a party later that night,
It's all just pits and potholes,
Annoying little bumps in the road
As I drive home in my 4runner that's as old as me,
I rather stick with the board on the top of my tanning lotion combined with worn down leather car,
I rather feel the rythmous beat of the waves against my skin
Than a bunch of sweaty bodies who reak of alcohol,
So I'll stick with my run off sentences, my incaffeinated mind, and my board under me.