When it clicks,
There is a sliding mechanism
That pushes those with sorrowed intentions along their gloomy and self
depricating way,
But it could be sweet,
The feeling of the wind,
Feeling of never being held to it,
Never having to solve anything.
It would be sad,
But sweet.
Like fudgy the whale,
Or my nigga cookiepuss...
What was I fighting for?
I've forgotten in my haste to battle,
The cause for this pause
Sweet hips t---s and p---y lips.
It was a futile fight,
And there you were fighting for the wrong side,
Tongue to cheek,
Except it was glued to the side of your face,
Maniacal-like.
I reckon they could have drank anything,
And still eaten mushrooms and gone into battle,
Milk or water,
Milk or honey,
But blood and honey estrogen would do the trick for sure...
Like 3 primary colors,
From that pallette could come any other feeling you imagine and
simulate...
F--k kill and make love... I'm always fighting for the privelege.
Always fighting for the chance.
But what do they fight for?
If not blood or honey or sex or sugar or love?
I have these dreams.
Of creating a new man deal woman way
Paradigms hung in small rice paper strips,
Picture behind just clear enough
Puts you on the road but neglects to mention your exit.
You see the sign telling you road ends.
But this man is you man or girl
And you see it coming and decide
The biggest decide ever
The razor that cuts the strips
It ends and you are here and be here as you may
You will never leave this place
And why woulkd I he and she ask...
Why would I ever...
Here is where I become man woman sentient muthafuck...
Here is where I grow new people.
New paradigm,
New prison,
New person.
