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Life Of A Braile Writer
IP:
written on round edges, but my pen still gives ink
voices in my head criticize; I don't care what they think giving my all, exerting smudged words on blank pages every single sense rages, living the life of minimum wages not necessarily in depth, no more than a hair's breath from going off deep-ends with hands folded on my breast this glowing yellow penned in blue, on my wilted papyrus ideas breaking out violently, surging for you like mind's lust trying to see in 20/20 but my news report just lacks it's not so bright and sunny with the world balanced on my back scribbling out pre and suffixes, discarding the gramatic kiss life is a louisville slugger, most often a swing and a miss "A plague on both your families", I Mercutio will resist if we evolved from apes, why do these monkies still exist? I'm snooping for clues so I may discover your hidden beauty brushing for mental fingerprints but you hands still elude me I get the feeling of flying, so I relish this 300 foot drop the world's smallest violin will do, as long as it doesnt stop If we were two peas in a pod, You'd still be one of a kind I write these songs for the deaf, teachin music theory to the blind wishing I could confide my all, the notion seems quite absurd Label me a Braile Writer, babe, I just want you to feel my words... Peace
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Life isn't a bitch... she's just sick of being personified -Sage Francis |
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