Stuck.
Ankle deep in molasses,
a fucking madman
screaming at some god I barely fear
to grab his crane-game arm, take aim,
get me the fuck out of here.
Free me from this red hot mess -
Yeah I've tried shifting focus, adjusting the zoom,
turning lenses like a locker combination convinced my determination
is moving these mountains.
Its not.
Sorry Mom, Sorry God.
But my shoes are still sticky sweet
and the fumes seep through several layers of sanity
'til my speech is a trial and reason?
Bitch please.
Couldn't use it I wanted to,
if I ever knew how to,
Always evaded me down alleyways and into swimming pools.
So tell your friends to bring a cooler,
pull up lawn chairs,
this shits gonna get good.
Crazy-molasses lady's ready to blow up the neighborhood.
This parade is one you won't wanna miss.
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