i often find that words, i can’t speak
i write, but words come and go as they please
always so frequent, i ask
how i’d love to bask, never have to ask, doubt
but for some reason my words are always in drought
i float, some nonexistent water of a fashion
i walk with caution as i have compassion
but people slip with rotation and i can’t seem to keep
no need for me to plead, so i lift my glasses, take a peak
i see, boy, i see
i keep my pace, float with days
the reactions, unbelievably, i’m old-fashioned
ask the last, he could go on in a variety of ways
but so stuck in a satisfaction of innocence i let go of things in an instant
my only defense is my own virtue
so i sit in my circle and float for eternal
because, unfortunately
a first never comes again