I want to crack ginger and squeeze on soft minds while I hop on ice and dream of salt, run down these stairs you are pure of age.

A thought that unleashed itself

I feel high and low at endings of sustained brains within masses of liquids at weak spinal cords of guitarist playing mad children raging about what shall I write about thinking I might add and make less to envision the character of morphine pain I've died, from heaven my wondering green hours speaks from an irrational mind I crave for you , for a light that strikes the backless me at dinners I shall be, in a low coast to coast, I do float and appreciate the complex taste of sugar and saturated fatty substances, I'm not a laughing chipmunk I'm a chimpanzee, ill not lay it down for you, you must climb up and see a radically vibrating illusion, a rather defective lens a chocking sense a very loud cough I drink water to feed I'm not a father I'm not need of large belts and metallic canes I will disobey for I am a rebellious figure of speech aching outward towards and upward come down I've heard enough of this, its too sane can it be, it I allow assumption and to that I declare thee strike a bell and announce he, strike the keys on boards for I carry a moist message I'm must convey. I'm astray; I'm not artsy or gay.

Sabri

"I hate Fridays, he is home now, and the house still smells of yesterday's liquor, the one spilt on floor. Lord how my back hurts. I don’t want to get up, I've peed my self."