I grabbed all my groceries without a bag after I heard half a revolver full of bullets pop off.

My meat bag soaked a paper sheet and started to lose integrity,
ripping at the seams, and it seemed normal.

So, I freaked and I bailed, after I showered, my drain looked like a rusty glitter parade and it made me feel *****.

I checked out how well the stew was seasoned from all of my advanced students.

I knew the recipes and rudiments only hold fast after hate hadn't held and wouldn't last.

So, after education had made real mention of how hard life can be,
That's when I wrote my book of what I actually see.

I stuck a butter knife into my childhood tree.

Just to see.

Never. Not ever would be me.

I'd rather die that gleem a glob of hate after a shaft had held us fast.

I'm Sorry.

I'm boiled water that would never last and stack us upon stale oxified office keys.

Please. I'm sorry.

Just send me to bed.


I'd rather be dead than answer a question that held my soul in remission and stuck me on a hickory sticker post caked in hate and held up with stagnant sand.

The resin built a bark on my childhood tree.

It's sticky and it burns, so bright. My eyes can barely see.



I plugged up holes on how I hate,

But that's not enough for me.


I made dinner,
I fed you,
it took a while.

But you don't care.

After gorging yourself on tasty food,

You can barely see.

Mandibles stroke against a stork on high noon.

I blew a cloud of candles to make us all swoon.


This is very much off putting,
I can see only glass.

It's pudding in central air while you stair at my ***.

I apologize for forgiving how sharp shells can be.

Because I dig  hella deep in ground that I can barely see.

I hate to hold you hostage.

But what I hate less
is that I don't have a life to give,
and my girl woke girl cares even less.

I had bad manners, but I scattered a couplet of culinary dealings into a platter of shaky masses and unironed dresses.

I had crispy dishes stacked in the sink,
and it stunk. So, I plugged up the matter whole to show that I'm still think about how hard life can be.

So, sorry...Lemme see..

I had bees in the garden, that polinated my assets, so I could finally see.

But that's all.

Im starving.

I no longer want to be but the brisk shiver air had spared my whisker hair, but after, I'm sorry. I'm left in a pile of knee-highs and overcooked fries I left sitting on my seat after a retreat to the nearest McDonalds.

She shoved me in the corner after chipping her teeth on the tip of a ***** bottle.

Nodding off, and mottled in bits of brackets holding fast.

I sighed, I knew it wouldn't last.

Like, it hurt.

It hurt real bad.

But I let it pass,
and now it hurts a little less.

I'm still a mess and my clothes are *****.

But folks say that I'm still young.
They laugh when they found out
that I'm not even thirty.