These Hands
All I wanna do is grasp these hands summon my strength and hide kickstands, a swollen memory, each trigger is tighter, up in smoke, I flee here with my lighter, but nothing ever comes without action, I want a magic carpet, like the one in Aladdin, to some, there's no sequel to caption, not to take it personal, so I seize up that fashion, laughing at the past like what the fuck had happened? flirting with the feelings, I failed to focus away from, taking each day, like it's my last one, structure it out, I call it poetry in motion, devoted, to myself, a tool for my trade, thank you for listening, display my grade A











