Unapleable Malcolm slept
I dont understand his goals
Of looking a wayward.  
He could of had his fill.  
It would be the work from work
How his friends worked todo away with.  The weird word in work.  Malcolm's word weird like undendentiable DNA.  
So many routines cloning  over repeatingly lapping like red ants.  
All the hours of day became more over themselves rather than every short spout of ingnorance.   The future totaled every amount sweat spent on inferior wastes of clock and thin hands.  His investable mind watched As time going while his chances aged until the idea became mildewedl over the already resting smells of rotten stairs.