“You discreet? I’m married on the DL.” Thanks, dude. If Cheaters ever returns on air, I can’t wait to be a blurred face running away from the site of our indiscretion with this song in mind.
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I should probably be writing this in pencil so it’s easier to erase any trace back to me. I’m boiling over, though, and I’m afraid if I don’t express it, I’ll erupt.
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Things are getting a bit hairy here. Winter is coming on strong, and my best defense is sprouting to keep me safe and warm, but how long will it be before I can’t place the face peering back at me? Just the thought of it makes me bristle.
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Will I ever shed this skin, the one that makes me feel like such a bottom feeder? No matter where I crawl to, there is always a hard surface getting in my way. Well, if you can’t cocoon, rule the room.
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Is it playtime already? Based on the excitement I’m seeing on the screen, all nipples (and other parts) are pointing to an emphatic "Yes!” When “Right Now” correlates with the rising of the sun, who can stop the orange mask in its filtered tracks?
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The webs I weave…I wish I could be more patient, like a spider. When I begin to spin for control, though, it always twists and turns into chaos. Then, I’m wrapped up in shame with no one else to blame but myself. Ugh…
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When the clouds roll in, the clouds puff out. In my first attempt at poetry, I freestyle in hopes of bringing the light to my life. Is that a skunk? No, just part of the current creative process. The sun will come out tomorrow, though, right?
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