Still seeing somewhat of an acid vision,
I’m not sure why I wanted to write,
In and out
I guess my thumbs were itchin.
I guess I can still feel something
Cause I can write a metaphor
About how my little thumbs were poor because you broke my screen and I’m still using it to type you love letters.
You look as eloquent as the swans
Shake your tail feather when you step out of that water.
This is a little more slow,
But it still goes,
I’m focused on such
But it’s really not that much
Because it rolls of ya tongue
Easily compared to the smoothness of a vanilla Dutch.
I’m starting to do this just to feel like my thoughts will be written down somewhere so that they are not only in my head,
With that being said,
Read my poems to the young people,
The Evel Kenevels,
I’m not sure who else,
Save your breath,
I don’t want to hear it utter from your prude lips,
Because we’re the only ones with a clear sense of freedom.