the answer is a question.
Believe it ....be it...  or **** it
Anxiety is indigestion
Of a future you cant stomach.
Need a bucket.
Reap the harvest of tomorrow
You have to plant seeds.
And man we
Know
Luxury is
a status. I just cant be.
Today's gift
Is push the envelope
Stamped. Addressed
To mister tomorrow
Oumarro  "has been"
And quarantine me in a
Morning
Where the thing between
My legs is more rewarding
*** all you know I'm *****.
I just hide it
On delivery
U.p.s sending wrong packaging
To your door you see
Its killing me