The mud I swing above of.
She told me to take my time as
The change from the
strawberry ice cream began to roll.
My sage green coin purse.
I wish to leave this town
Neither small or big but
It seems like knows me more.

The waters of march.
Known for the rain and yet
The tears wont dry because its warmer outside.

Wondering if the acid in my stomach
Has had enough of me.
Wondering if the doctor can still
swing like a child for comfort.

In a few months
Ill have to go
But i wonder if
I'll be swinging still
Lamenting.