E-go

it is not ladylike to spit, yet here it comes -- the bile in my throat so thick, it's a tickling swarm -- bug guts on the pavement.

the trace isn't a slow ride but a slow burn -- my thoughts are louder than sparklers -- fizzle out just as quickly.

smile, little one, with inchworm dreams -- the front half of those suckers are quicker than the back -- it ends before the finishline.

frost spoke to shakespeare, or at least used him -- mortality is a popular topic, i guess -- so, the bile spreads, yellow and careful.

i want you to call me doctor -- i want you to call me mentor -- i want you to thank me, thank me, be me -- fizzle out just as quickly.

we are the layers, even if we point them out -- we are the fragments, the earth -- our blood is mud, our truth high above us.

you aren't supposed to have access -- that's classified info -- as soon as the pleasure crawls down your spine -- bug guts on the pavement.

so, the bile spreads, yellow and careful -- our truth high above us, it ends before the finishline.