20 2 / 2011
Spit on my ube roll.
Mic check. Mic check.
I was barely looking at the crowd, I was staring at the empty spot where you’re supposed to be but I guess the smoke signaled the fire and the ashes fell flat on my head, burning my greasy threads yet, I wasn’t alarmed.
I was calm as the sea at night, I was serene as the early spring.
Is this how the dogs bark?
- Noisy yet perfectly still.
- Focused and aiming.
If this is true, then call me a DACHSHUND.
I HATE YOU.
