B. 4

I don't remember the last tear drop, sometimes when a thousand thoughts hit the Indy five, I go berserk holdin' onto a false hope until it sides.. Tie ropes in December, that box I hide.. Jack Box is dismembered, how head is high, so high I can't recall a damn thang the night I tried.. Shit, I didn't try enough, there's always a tiny light, pinhole, the size of lies.. Where I can depend on my folks, when, who, and why.. I tend to spin on a roast, lend truth to these eyes.. I won't pretend what I post, instead decide.. Unless you contend what I chose, this life I ride.. Design sin from a dose of a dying kind, I write forth to resuscitate, the human guide.. Aka...