Powdery flakes poisoned,
like orange juice on a sad day.
Stale snakes,
squeezing me: my throat.
Can’t breathe no more.
No alms, **** being poor.
Going 1-100 in less than 3 seconds,
rushes faster than sports cars.
Never ready for it,
but always ready for the next piece--
excitement and like little dolls
unable to express my emotions,
stoic…sick and stuck hazy phases
ready to re-phrase my life.
Time to get out of struggle-- done with strife
Knives felt too easy—I like--
challenges feel like sweet marmalades