Told my pen I was still sour I was severing our bond, going to the keyboard she said 'hey hon' I'm thinking cool, a poem every hour. Dousing fire with randomly placed words seems absurd I heard once that flying through curves with the birds helps you spot a healthy herd. The like-minded folks secretly wishing the worst to get worse cause the reason behind what they spoke was stolen and replaced with a hearse. It gets darker, but take this as an attempt to remove the blades from my back, I feel used undeserving of that action, and that which is half a fraction of making no sense leaves me silent thinking of where my mind went. Probably with them in the wind backstabbing bastards. I lent a familiar description 2pac gave to me and squeezed tightly to those words. Which is to say I went my way before my high days with intense listening. Missing my own intensity dousing my own fires with broken logic. Cool if she got it, better than broken heart pieces from a flesh made locket. However mine are. Scoop them up into my pocket, toss the hammer that did the damage walking on feeling weak, love famished. Out of pocket.
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