There he is, in the back of the car,
Munching up tar,
Sound it's enough to make my stomach ill,
But between my fingers is the wheel, no matter the nerves,
I just might wanna upgrade to cop car bars, I hate that sound of
Holding him in the back of the car,
Nervous just holding keys to his prison, made of the tar he's busy chewing up.
Might not be too long before he gets to chewing me up.
So off to cop car bars,
To keep the beast in the back of the car, Because you never know when he'll get tired of chewing up loose pieces of tar.
YOU ARE READING
When Sanity is Lost
PoetryAnd I just couldn't stop, before I knew it I was picking the pen up again. My second book in process this is soon to begin editing once my last one is done. As always hope you enjoy and find my insta @these.are.true.feelings
