Perhaps inspiration is the problem. I have always danced with words. Blending syllables and wit Bending sentences at will. Firing ink from a loaded pen. Makes for good imagery. As I flap the pages of this notebook. Dropping tiny daggers with this tongue. Trying to master the craft of symbolism. With sarcasm. Playing with these words like hooked on phonics. Molding them into a scene. Of play on words. With less drama. Maybe even worth less. Like pay-less. As we walk in eachothers shoes. To better understand the roads we travel.
we had it all the popcorn the peanuts all the salty snacks you could ask for and then some drunk degenerate drove down a road some maniac of a man on a mission he only noticed when stomach acids burnt the back of his throat he wasn't always so quiet he wasn't always so unkept but things change