Fuck it...

It ain't shit is what the tongue twiddles with... To be a nobody as if any one person could get sit upon the lips... It becomes an infinite distance within... One where emotion doesn't vibe with the the feelin of solitude's twist... Hope ain't a thing to be found as time is ripped apart like an old gift... N grins come n go like sighs from exhaustion with nothing left to give... Coming up short losing grips on life spent hearing the jabbing of jibs... Tripping on the sidelines keeping the bench in position jus in case a presence fits... As it seems better than forcing a fix to adjust to feet always ready to skip... With a damn grunt come every morning trying to shake off another night poking at the chuckle in the ribs...