It’s weird. normally I’ll wake
up quickly & write a piece
but now I fall asleep with
my pen still writing.
and now that my eyes are back
open…i’m semi-lucid
my subconsciousness is still
spazzing & my pen hand decided
to pick up where it left off.
southpaw turned on the phone &
the first text i got this morning
was advice from you…
“do that…” it says. “i don’t need you overdosing”
& although semi-lucid is saying “huunnh?”
sub-conch says “ah shyt”. my last offer to you
was of back-rubs & quiet places cause you looked tired
surrounded by a solid disclaimer: “imma leave you
alone cause you don’t seem like you feel like being bothered…”
an earlier report [or maybe i should say "slip-up"]
twittered in your ear that you are my green. and
i don’t smoke. don’t get blowed & can’t get drunk.
but i can flip that switch. i can leave you alone
for more than 1 dusk to dawn; more than 25 hrs a day
8 days a week
cause as scary and unbelievable as
this may seem:
i’m not trying to make you my man.
alas, the Most High is subjecting you to the damnation
& cruelty of becoming my muse.
it’s like my soul is a phucking succubus. the more i’m around you, the bytch tries to suck you dry. and i try to push her back in time…but, to no avail. you prob think i’m fawning over you…but you don’t hear her scream like a sober DT stricken alcoholic
when i bleed her dry.
like now. because my pen never stops after my
soul has given you a blow job.
2007.07.01 @12:05
