10 Mar. 2007
How can when someone says you’re wrong you respond with some kind of defeat?
But coming here for fifteen minutes has only made to discreet.
Like, being a bum made you some type of chum—a factory in the industry.
And how come when you’ve announced you quit, there, exposed, are your luster, yellow teeth?
And covered on your drug tests is pee with complete negativity.
But in your world, you own a peane six feet.
And each time you’ve dug, you dig; you’re digging six feet deep.
But all that matters is your weed even though what’s necessary is your nicotine.
But continue with this query cos there’s nothing to receive.
I’d think the most hide able place is the space behind the heat.
Oh, but then it’s on fire—makes you a liar—every word is disbelief.
And with you gone just may be wrong but it sure as hell is a relief.
How could you dream to conviction that you’re a necessity?
“I’m no druggie, I’m a family man—I only do those once every week.
Collecting numbers isn’t considered a cheat.
What I surf doesn’t make me a freak—and don’t you dare say, ‘But it makes you a creep’.
Who I hurt doesn’t leak the bleed.
My life is all about what doesn’t bother me and that’s the quality I seek.”
But what if your son looks up to you and says that it is kind of a need?
Is it honestly responsible?
You would probably say, “Listen, I’m just trying to recollect me.”
