Pocket full of weed, mouth full of smoke.. holding in trying not to choke..(cough) So lungs fill up and brain cells start to drop ..... contimplating .... contimplating.....whether or not to stop. An excuse why I can’t talk to you? Don’t think so, I’d love to talk to chat it up, then get it down...always the best way is this little ‘ol college town. I had a good vibe, but now it’s lost, thrown out and just a second thought. I’m always discouraged by the conscience and lines thrown out in the back of my head. Meaning every word I could have said, and maybe should have said, were entirely wrong. Suggesting; just guessing, that ingesting what was said all along was more than ever always wrong? wrong... it was wrong. So forget all these customs we become accustomed to, throw out the rules. Being right is jus ta state of mind you don’t completely understand. So shoes full of my feeet and head full of things i want to remember to write about. “All the filthy minds could never come clean to admitting about all the dirty things they have done.” Scribbled in ink in the notebook across my chest. All those words with some girl I want to marry. She’ll come around my bin and tell me this is the fairytale. Soo all is good and the happily ever after will be happy after all/