donate to ya boy

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Note Of:Of Note

gimme a minute here..

If I wasnt so I high

,I wouldent be so hungry

home is where you make it,

so my home is in outerspace..

and theres no clear cut way for me to go back

visit for the holidays.

the price I pay,is really just a toll

crossing threw the open road,blowin dollars in hopes this frontol lobe

isnt scared


at some time I could go back If my thoughts depart

or become hollow

but no hopes in a stagnet reality,

ive set a bar,

I can never let my past better me

out muscle future goals,k

how can this grow

I feel like Burroughs

,assuming death at every corner

when in reailty Ill probally out live em all

balls to the celeing tile as blood cliff hangs this nose

caught by my tougne

,the taste is bitter

and sorrow follows

but I swallow my problems and chalk it up for the better ment of the soul

this brain is a sponge

,I was hoping several years ago it was full

but atthe moment I feel like I could run blindfolded threw taffic picking up quarters

I feel like a sorcerer with these words,

procuring moral obligations to get myself threw the morning

accompany me for coffee...lets mean the world to me.

and I mean that.

far off,

deep pause,

the claws dig deep in this palace of sorrow


fallen next to the wall

displeasure written on my smile

and to think

we only squabbled.

follow this up with a thousand bibles and you still wont have enough words

to accuratley defile


define the pillars of this life so far,

at the center of the labryinth a menataur


I free base the sun.


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