ever wonder what was on the moon?
like the little aliens
that lived in the shoe?
what kind of things
lie in those gray patches,
what kind of monsters
leer in the dark.
my fingers always want me to rhyme.
whenever i try to write like this
When i pet my cats, they always hiss.
hey, look at that.
I've never been good at letting go
never been good at letting thoughts fly
i guess my brain is just wired like a bike
it needs to be peddled to get anywhere.
but you know, maybe its like a motorcycle,
because sometimes my brain shortcircuts to.
No, i dont sit there drooling
i just sit there, zoning out.
oh, wow. i'm thinking freely now.
letting my twitchy hands twitch all the want
when i look back and read some of this,
i kinda wanna slap myself, because it sounds so sloppy.
sloppy somewhat rhymes with poppy.
And soon comes the day where we all wear red
and yes, the poppy counts as red.
roses are red, violets are blue,
sometimes soldiers have feelings too.
i think my thoughts are like fish,
or candy in a jar.
they are all bubbly
all mixed coulors
and most definatley,
All over my table.