I'm driving miles, counting smiles, in the aisles, of the road.
In the forms of cracks, dips, and traps, where millions have drove.

I'm crouching, pouncing, dipping, dodging, frothing, lunging, from this load.
The grief strikes nails, through pails, that hold my appetites trails.

As it falls like sand, through the tin, of the can receptacle of this man.
This stomachs a trick as the food softly slips through nicks in the net of the canvas of this bed

I cannot eat,
Sleep,
Feed,
Or drink.

I cannot want,
Gain,
Deflect,
The pain

My hungers a mountain i cannot climb,
Now its a grave i dig named "mine"
I own up to my own grief, its the chief of my beliefs.
Hold my throat to the sheers, cut close to veins my dear.
For i deserve where i lay, in the streets, or in the bay,
And my death will be on loan, i will own up to these bones.
I have created this devil in my eyes.
The mirror death mirage.

I shouldn't open up my cage
And let my voice out.