Tiptoeing across treacherous terrain like a terrible tumbleweed
Raising the temperature and racing the ridges raw like a rough riding stampede
Singing songs to the sun’s shine like you can surely show sweetness sans speed
I don’t want to breathe
Who really needs to be freed?
Who peppers pretty promises over preexisting principles like priceless puddles preemptively?
Who paints palatable pictures of possible passions prescriptively?
My preferred poisoning
Choke that breath out of me
Tiptoe across, race the road raw, sing sticky similes
Pepper promises, paint pictures, while you positively guarantee
That you’ll stick around for as long as both shepherds remain optimistically pleased
simply at ease…
without any nearby sheep…

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