If you're a lion's mane then I'm a bloody antelope playing dead and waiting for the final strike. If you're a spoiled carton of milk then I'm the the carbon monoxide that secretly kills you while you knit your weapons of mass destruction. If you're the dish can I be the spoon? And whatever happened to the fork and the knife? If you're baby ruth bar then I'll be a lollipop that tastes like booze and seawater with a switch blade slicing out of the stick, and a green swirl.
You said you were broke and stormed out with your sock full of change. It's not my fault baby, but you can blame my hands but you cannot blame my heart. You can blame my lips but you cannot blame my eyes. My fortune cookie said: move to a poorer state and you'll be richer. I ate it just in case.
It's time to snort a line of sleep and venture back to my subconscious therapy sessions, also known as dreams. Tomorrow I'll make up for my lack of livelyness and today I'll cross off sloth on my sins to do list. Until next time, see you later alligator.
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