Type Two-Four

uninspired
even with all of this
slamming bass
deep within walls
soaking
damped with lyrical flow
there goes trees
cars, buses, trains

long winding roads
with many a miles to go
next exits, rest stops
lavatories
"we don't call it 'washrooms'
we call it 'restrooms'"
"oh, oh, aight"

cool, damp evenings
the beat decreases
long black lashes
thuds increases
they call it
strumming hard
on my 'guitar' strings

and with no strings attach
he attaches me
firmly
like the tag glued to my pack
and i want his lips to touch mine
yet he squeezes me
and i melt within his arms

the feeling he's creating
he senses
loses me, finds me
then loosens me
said i've had enough
"you're falling too fast
get some experience
come back to me
i'll fix you"

but i'm not broken
shaken maybe,
emotional,
somewhat
i don't remember the climax,
the story
who was the pro
the smart one
too uninspired to write
to complete a complete sentence
breathless
uninspired