Replicating thoughts—reptile skins, changing
shadows, down to earth; repping tiles—
:revolving doors, resolving morals through
cutthroat self-worth; like ice-cold Sprite slicing
my throat— lime seeds bite, then lemon trees
from words; what I spit, I plant— pain grows
proof, even when it hurts.

A six-pack that hurts from trading sixpacks,
late nights; uncontrollable forces still, I force
control within— a brown stain on white forces,
forces me to face what shows; at least a piece
of white remains, at least a piece of growth
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;still grows, even when it feels slow.