The blood wasn't orange,
I swear it wasn't.
The oats from the oatmeal carry on;
Singing gracefully from the back seat, to the tip of the top,
Without the carrots from the basket, and the messages inside of them.
I began to investigate the possibilities of a ******,
but I realized I would be investigating my own fruits, my own plants,
I'd be investigating myself, and I wasn't ready to do that.
I was more focused on the blues in the sky, and how blue they really were,
or the way the bus driver couldn't stop blinking,
One thing I'll never forget, is the way the people looked at me when they heard,
Action, yes sir, next time don't erase my curiosities