My my, it's foggy here.
Clouds of shit.
Thick.
How I prefer female booty.
How I like my milkshake.
Thick.
Food is always my second thought.
But I need a vacuum first.
It will be easier to clean up this shit life left me.
But is all garbage trash?
Doesn't manure fertilize?
Yes.
Twice.
Anything that comes twice has a fifty percent chance of being right.
Fifty percent makes the lottery seem alright.
Alright.
One mans trash is another mans trash later.
My trash is picked up by another no less than 300 seconds.
Three hundred seconds is a long time to hold you're breath.
Death in fact.
But, before you pass make sure you pick up this trash.
The stench.
Has you fogged up the ass.
YOU ARE READING
Sleep Diction
PoetryA collection of things I write. Whenever they come to me. Enjoy. I appreciate any feedback. Welcome it even.
