Here I sit, stale as a pile of ****
Here I sit, wasting my wit...
Nothing to inspire...
Nothing to remember...
No deep message to get.
Im jus' killin time...
Writin' lines that rhyme.
Freestylin' off the fingers as fast as I can think.
Flyin' off the handle...
Im ele-mental...call me Zinc.
Secure in my manly dreams, not afraid to wear pink.
I'm a fan of good things, I speak them in tongue and write them in ink.
Im fed up with frauds and emo kids that think they're rock stars...
And smokers inhaling tar sticks...
In their smokey bars...that smell like ****
I dont get it.
A couple things I'll never miss.
But here I sit, wasting my wit.
These are just a few frustrations I'd like to forget.
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC
Here I sit, stale as a pile of ****
Here I sit, wasting my wit...
Nothing to inspire...
Nothing to remember...
No deep message to get.
Im jus' killin time...
Writin' lines that rhyme.
Freestylin' off the fingers as fast as I can think.
Flyin' off the handle...
Im ele-mental...call me Zinc.
Secure in my manly dreams, not afraid to wear pink.
I'm a fan of good things, I speak them in tongue and write them in ink.
Im fed up with frauds and emo kids that think they're rock stars...
And smokers inhaling tar sticks...
In their smokey bars...that smell like ****
I dont get it.
A couple things I'll never miss.
But here I sit, wasting my wit.
These are just a few frustrations I'd like to forget.
Request permission to use this poem