see, my problem is, i give a fuck making other's misery mine with psalms of Solomon, designed, to deliver us or more so them, from where they're blind never wanting another's pain to mirror mine hearing chimes harmonize on my climb to a charming life with my momma's mind setting an example, for the, more than a handful who fail miserably, at delivering falling like anvils contributing to the death of chivalry as Maker's makes its Mark on my liver, to stop the shivering where would we be without inspiring minds or someone who leads, the ones who follow behind who knows me... i do what others don't, not for kudos for my soul; & for you to believe there's hope going noodles, relaxing my pen with passion when i doodle relapsing like deja vu attracting damsels that boo hoo over guilt, spilled yoo hoo, or dreams unfulfilled still, what would you do if you could do what i do you'd instill now you understand why what i write's like a Bible & why i share it with you to feel it's for survival