Who’s Cocoon is it? 

I asked you a million times

Then repeat for this millenia-thus getting nowhere

Too busy stuck in time- feeling that I would die

You say you hate it when I’m bummed,  but do you really know what my oceans are saying?

I’m writhing against your rocks begging to creep through the crevices of your land yet you keep bringing me back to a god awful pavillion of greasy fries and unfriendly goodbyes

The oatmeal is dry and the grits are butterless,  my soul begs God for worthiness

But I know that if the ghost has me,  I might not be so close to treasure island.

I asked you a million times- this time I won’t budge any longer

This century is so self-absorbed

I sigh the longest sigh that my breath could hold.

I’m being reminded of my failed gods and their filthy words

When we quarrel,  it isnt a surprise

Too bad no angel would want my host,

I guess I could ask you for a son and a daughter to form in my belly

But I hate fucking asking.

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