The meet

Bumping into you, awkward silence, there’s something you’re not telling , why are you keeping it in when it’s killing.
I mean you got me why you tripping , we’re sipping, go on flip it, let’s kick it.
Shawdy kind of vivid, she double bedding , morning sicking, not sure whose kid it is,
I’m caught up in the middle, center of attention , I feel the tension as you mention your succession incompetence of your intentions, imperfections lead to therapy sessions where putting all her words into action, sending it like a message in a bottle, its precious, no desperate measures.

The feeling is of a bird outside, on a cloudy stormy weather, with watered feathers, more like Heathers are colours of that coloured leather on your skin, thin but warms within, unlike a bird you hide from the rain well enough to dry until it pass, yet you up all night drowning in tears of fears, spheres of peers that pierce ideas into your brains, you try keep sane, ignoring the pain brewed off my Township lives.
What keeps me sane is the hopes that as days pass I’ma get what I deserve, share with me what’s been preserved

She afraid to lose me but still don’t wanna be with me , you’re selfish preying on selfless, priceless.

Deceived by the Meer fact of dreaming awake when you’re sleeping, with a question in mind, who is my love, who is she standing by when I am not around.

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