©Malcolm Saint
Growing up to me was, like a paradox
And my life was simply, some bitter sweet.
Living to me, was like an error of parallax!!
And even though i was present
I saw things different
I overly felt stressed and broken down.
So I got a bottle of blood oozing from my mind and drank it simply to retain the genes of wit
The traits of genius
Now I still feel drunk, am a drunken man confused with thoughts of where my wit came from.
I have so much wit that am willing to be a donor to those that struggle with thinking
See, I feel blind but I read your mind.
Your cells of intelligence are intact maybe just your ingrims are a bit disturbed
You are simply wondering what Malcolm Saint will say next
Follow the followng link for full poem.
Now am using my own blood as ink
See this script is a red stain
I am Self Conscious of my strain
While Stressing my pain
Being Fatherless sucks as a sound of a train
Like a painter going to brush with a wrong can of paint,
Am on the rail line on the trail side to adopt one that seems so fine.
Because now am the toughest, call me the toughest because anything you can do, I do better.
Still a member of Society
I stood watching my peers run the city
Going down the kids lane embracing their dad
Life was hard
I didn't have one
Mama provided but she was only a maid.
Who did her work so excellently so she could bless us with bread
End of part I
M