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I can’t really tell you About love, You. I’m interested in ******* Till I’m raw, and holding You like the universe you Are. Sometimes I go around With hoes, Smoking blunts till we fume And sing and laugh And start getting handsy. Sometimes they have their kids in the other room, And they yelp and laugh; when I look into these hoes Eyes, all I see is aggression. I’m not seeing myself. I’m not saying these things The way I want them to be sung. Most of my money Runs out the door. Like a bandit, Trouble likes to peep me when I’m at my worst. The cops have never been so ***** As when they see me, and they ****** Holsters. I go alone a lot. To a lot of places. Hoes, Money, Depression, Debt, Bad Credit, All kinds of Addiction, **** Alcohol, **** Codeine, Nicotine, My brain is a Chemical Frenzy, Most days I’m hovering like a mote. I graduated, Look at my degree: **** Me. I have come home to a confining place, A spit-swallowing place, full of half-breathed people And tight-lipped sorrows. I can only go when it’s convenient And necessary. I can only be when it’s part of a digression, Never progression. Food tastes like paper, I’ve taken a likening. Lights are fastened to the sky, The glue wears, washes my eyes in milk, The jewels drop, The world ends. Then it all snaps back into place, eerily, So clean I never saw it. Ask me if I can tell you about love, When I can remember your body And It’s casual thump, Clothed or not, Drunk or sober, Speaking or silent. Ask me if I can drive home and peel back the sky with my left hand, while steering Earth into oblivion, As I lean across wind-swept galaxies of dust, ash, and settled nicotine To kiss Florida Orange lips, sip the nectar of insanity, and Swerve on universe eyes.
0
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
Ask me about love.
I can’t really tell you About love, You. I’m interested in ******* Till I’m raw, and holding You like the universe you Are. Sometimes I go around With hoes, Smoking blunts till we fume And sing and laugh And start getting handsy. Sometimes they have their kids in the other room, And they yelp and laugh; when I look into these hoes Eyes, all I see is aggression. I’m not seeing myself. I’m not saying these things The way I want them to be sung. Most of my money Runs out the door. Like a bandit, Trouble likes to peep me when I’m at my worst. The cops have never been so ***** As when they see me, and they ****** Holsters. I go alone a lot. To a lot of places. Hoes, Money, Depression, Debt, Bad Credit, All kinds of Addiction, **** Alcohol, **** Codeine, Nicotine, My brain is a Chemical Frenzy, Most days I’m hovering like a mote. I graduated, Look at my degree: **** Me. I have come home to a confining place, A spit-swallowing place, full of half-breathed people And tight-lipped sorrows. I can only go when it’s convenient And necessary. I can only be when it’s part of a digression, Never progression. Food tastes like paper, I’ve taken a likening. Lights are fastened to the sky, The glue wears, washes my eyes in milk, The jewels drop, The world ends. Then it all snaps back into place, eerily, So clean I never saw it. Ask me if I can tell you about love, When I can remember your body And It’s casual thump, Clothed or not, Drunk or sober, Speaking or silent. Ask me if I can drive home and peel back the sky with my left hand, while steering Earth into oblivion, As I lean across wind-swept galaxies of dust, ash, and settled nicotine To kiss Florida Orange lips, sip the nectar of insanity, and Swerve on universe eyes.
Waverly
Written by
35/M/American
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
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