Blinded by the rosy prospects, your lower lip is cracked and seeping. Truth’s bewilderment builds a bridge and gets over by slowly creaking. Put down the rags that soaked up the polish for metaphors. If the truth sets you free, why are you keeping everything behind your teeth from breathing?

But I was too busy stretching the canvas of stars. Caught up in the murky waters of dancing lights no holds bars. Based so sweet. Pulse peaks. Vision perpetual. Sights rising Sun. 12 strikes ignition. Bliss to spark magnetic envision.

Weed, a cuddle fest, and sex with a cute girl. On a strike from everything until I get this.