Turtle

Maybe someday I’ll stop drowning, perhaps I’ll lurk behind my clowning, I shut my eyes and there’s only gloominess, Oh, who’ll ever embrace this soul full of looniness, I’ll be forced to prison myself willy-nilly, I’ll accept this inglorious defeat boldly, shape a buffoonery of defeat coldly. The knife might block my reverie, of all those wonderful 7 minutes of my memory, oh, don’t be too harsh, don’t be cynical, perchance, give me a try, don’t be so finical, so what- if I have a grimy history, but will I excuse myself? What a mystery! A turtle suffocated by just another plastic, another block on my shoulder? No, that’s too drastic, stop smothering my soul, let me bleed out. At least give me 7 minutes, what’s rush about?