Poetry · Writing

Thoughts From A Balcony

What the fuck is time~

 

find me on the next flight out

couldn’t wait a second longer

the night would only make me smaller

what if I’m gone, what the fuck you gon’ think then?

It’s all just dreams, but feels like a reality,

no destination, flying high and landing in a place more homey

miss my honey, stopped to see her

but just for a little had to catch my flight.

 

Taking shots and fighting the likes

makin’ more then I’d plan and they’ll kiss my ass to get a piece.

They all here while the lights on,

the nights are just as quiet as ever

chasing the stragglers away with a bloody rewrite.

It’d better be worth it

strong here and no abortion

filling out these titles not extortion

I’m still here just not on the surface.

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