Art Stiches Poem by Byron Cornell Ford II

it could be sweet like a long forgotten dream
or the times with my sweetheart and the time spent remembering
whatever december brings, the birds refuse to sing
let em know death is close, theyve got yer minds, your comatose
i was silent as a scene post violence when
the cops didnt come and
nobody caught on yet
hyjack ya spaceship, spaceman dont want it,
haha im so lonespit, swagga like im homeless,
ego decode hocus pocus,
over your head like pilot blokes is,
fools never take notice, why speak to the hopeless,
its all love just find focus, all thoughts left unspoken,
forgotten like lame jokes is,
see the pain floating, who will it rest on,
when someone esle swallows anothers sins their outlet is dead strong,
some say im head strong, a lame trying to tread on
thinner water then the space between his lips,
meet his grip,
follow this
whatever this is,
nah thats a different picture,
too different to take notice in like that highschool sweetheart we all missed out on or got done wrong by
but that is not what this is,