While i sit alone in this room i've got crates full of sorrow
Even more filled with shadows
That i fish out and ridicule when i'm felling lonely.

I'm lacking sense, but bound in a very specific direction it's phonomenal and unprecedented it's a chip of the old block and a step up the new ladder.

Mr. scribe, i write to you pen and penchant aimed to pour over a fool left with no more rhymes i'm poeticlly franchised.

I'm in charge for the day in terminal wanderlust
I've excited my worst thoughts exorcised what was lost am
I a bad seed sprouting up or am i not?

I'm sure what sad is
But listless i'm not my lists are never ending and my emotions aren't store-bought and tears, they either decieve or endure me i'm your little golden nugget collecting dust
Bored with my own stale and directed thoughts
In a place where so much life and loves abound
It's amazing how little tempts me from my glass house.

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