I’m looking at a blank screen not sure I can still do this, but I am going to give it a shot because writing has always been the one thing I do best.
And I want to put my arms around you and I want to climb inside your trunk and I know this is a run on sentence and I know I’m running on fumes.
My license has expired, my heart is out on parole and I know it appears I could give a shit less, but trust me when I tell you compassion is where it’s at as I try and escape from the same old grind plaguing me like some poorly written script.
And I want to put my arms around you and I want to climb out of your junk and I know this is a run on sentence and I know my time is nearly spent.
I’m looking in the mirror turning up the heat on my own fraudulent desires as I turn my back on creature comforts because they never seem to get the job done.