Fumbling through empty bags of cereal,
Because I have no meal,
That’s half way real,
It’s surreal.
You might ask,
“What’s the deal?”,
But I’ll conceal,
Hide my identity,
Under lines of poetry,
It’s totally,
A way to roll you see,
Not poverty,
But possibly,
A test of will and greed,
Unstoppably,
Compulsively,
And un-contagiously,
Contracting means,
To understand the rhymes in my meanings.
It’s freeing needs,
But displacing leads,
As its bleeds into my history,
I now believe,
What you think and what do,
Are simply different tunes,
You can say a bunch of shit,
Or create a thing or two,
Its up to you,
Come up with your own rules,
Or follow suit like all the tools,
You better use them too,
Or they’ll grab right on to you,
Then you’re through,
Become beat up,
Used wrong,
Then be twisted,
Flipped,
And screwed,
What’s to loose?
All that you’ve been through?
That’s not true.
You may change a thing or two,
Any who,
No matter what you do,
Never settle,
Never loose,
And never ever end on moo.
NV. – written on July 9th, 2018 started @ 7:27 p.m. finished @ 8:14 p.m. Just rambling. Thanks for any likes, shares, comments or follows. Keeps the people going. – SF.