caught red-handed by the sin of imitation

I'm one moral absurdity short

of hanging myself from the House of Pain porch

with a bloody umbilical cord

still dangling between the legs 

of a mother mid birth.

I am not cursed; just predisposed.

it's not heredity; just the medicine 

I suppose.  it's a scientific fact:  the side effects

of marijauna always come back.

but don't worry, just relax.

I'll roll up the next blunt, you rest your eyes and take a nap.

when you wake up,

I'm a light the bitch

up and we gon fly high as a duck.

cause I don't play around.  I don't give a fuck

what I write, long as it has the right sound,

because sound conveys more meaning than words.

it helps people remember what you say 

after they've forgotten what they heard.

jw 5/19 2:20 a.m.