T. 12

Sometimes I get this feeling, a one to grab, held tight in them grips, till morning pass.. It's unexplainable, would you be sad, if I held it back, no one can tap.. As if they needed to, no doubt can snatch, spark interest, them holes are patched.. The arrow shot, cupidly mad, love leaking, a colorful batch.. Puddles of joy, a random past, good memories, including daft.. My stupid heart, foolish and parts, way for the unknown, unbearably laugh.. Distinction of a sorrowed mass, computational compound, it's multi-vast.. Whichever way it's headed, endlessly catch, a better half of no name I spat.. It's you boo, whom else would I think of, do you like crafts, in other words, I write to last.. A lifetime supply of, you guessed it.. Mack..