My eyes never get red and puffy, as my MMJ career isn’t anywhere “near” here in Ver-mont where I want “pot” again !!!!!

Or for insomnia of reiterated snoozing, maybe some, your lush boozing, with the intention of “drinking yourself to sleep”- the word is mum and dearest with coming from birth is nearest, to the home of a nest, so nestled with love from the Mother Bird above, covering her chickens and like the dickens, with a zipped-up fly the end is nigh, arriving during the dark, a lighter emits a scraped ‘spark’ of intuition through no fruition, like Fruit of the Loom, changed very soon, with the wicked witch on her broom, my ass-cheeks, I “moon” and ruin a family photograph with a scrunched up face, Chantilly lace, pressing the pressured and pleasured, pursed lips by the hips, of Hip-Hop Nation, the Sirius creation, enclaved while breathing in the air, look at the damsels so fairly fairlady weather my friend to the end

And encamped asylums leaving passion-goers enslaved with numbers numerous names need no refrain, of swallowing pills-pills-pills oh please, they will cause one to feel at easy ease, say again to me — please!

Stasis I play the basses on Lincoln Point Drive, to think… TO THRIVE, I’M ALIVE!

Leave a Reply