Lost kid, young goat
Cold from the snow
Cold wit no coat
Winter knows
Blizzards still blow
I could jus drop to da flo (Floor)
Breath less nd
say no mo
Fûck pressure fûck society fûck the 5-0
I could change my attitude
Raise my altitude too
High, I on pikes peak
For da better view
Eyes open for a clue
Omen
I've been low in the catacombs
Bumpin lofi tunes
All alone
Maybe a visitor
But none made a breakthrough
Unlike you
My heart
Still yearns
Ya love
Summa time lady
Growin cold from lack of touch
About the Creator
Kraig Wolph
Im a Groovy Guy just droppin fly ass lines
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
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