I pulled so ******* these strings
that I tripped and became the martyr.
Tangled up in thoughts of you
and the esoteric things you do
inside my mind are electric.
You're fire, don't ever forget it.
I'm popping another Ritalin
with a caffeinated chase
because I have too many words to write
when all I want to do
is pen another verse
for you to carry inside your purse.
Laying in the back of a hearse
I can't help but wonder if I'm cursed,
stuck in a bubble ready to burst
but what will come first?
Death or words in my heart?