Author Information
Culled
Do you feel off script
In the weeds
Finding pockets unplanted
With a fist full of seeds,
They over correct
Like you’re the exception
Slipping through their grip
Our future ripped
in some black sun
The withering never ends
And the petals blow
In that cruel wind
But we heart react to the idea
Then explain that we need it,
The act of sin
Paid in full
—For the fools
Thems the brakes kid,
—the god damn rules
