trouble

sober
I feel chosen to express the world as I mold it
no deitys,monitary dreams...fairly senseable taste
eclectic subjective rhyme sprees.
late nights dragging the lake...
she is one I'd claim to "need"
if I was less of a solider
more of a heartwarming lover boy poet...
these dirty feet are all I've seen
rusty nails and broken glass along the streets
belly full of words
brain full of teachings.
perturbed.
id finally get it right if I didn't continually get interrupted in these
wet dreams
I mean
at least its not the evil thats seen
or those dabs I fiend
over
I remain in total control of everything but those whom I
lust
over
luckily,
I am no gun owner.
nor a creepy loner
just a quiet stoner
agorophobic
prone to panic attacks in the midst of those
who
make my soul warmer.
she's trouble
and Im a condrum
but in each others presence
our hearts beat like war drums