Mind is burning
Another petty crime discussed by the jury
Whining and already wasting in a hurry
And time is racing and turning
Over brain-storming hardly learning
Insane stories this wooden floor is worn
Out are more poems just boring torn
Over these past glories subconscious oratories
To the surface not sure the purpose yet perhaps the worst is
Yet to boast toast roast and coast
For these caught thoughts ought naught
To be
Forgotten I guess unless
A lot is in
A night I might bite
My lip a bit that’s it oh shit just
Slightly with tightly
Closed eyes yet who knows
Out the window the wind blows, I see three tall trees in throes
Now I’m taking stock of the alarm clock
Spinning over my bed my body’s like lead it’s dead
Unlocking the phone so
Postpone the
Morning’s near
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