Buddha's Sister

Dreams are escape from the underground, I overdose and write it down— Reality comes From all around; Look at this pretty flower I’ve found…. Oh levitatious lofty rest, At the apex— of my breast— Come freely wither up to my head, To fill this frazzled treasure chest. When I go— I’ll promise us Not to fail Not to fuss, To leave a trail A trail of trust— A trail of guardian angel dust. In the Nether Either Ever World. I turn around Unsung Unfurled. A swirling how; A doubt excused, This junk draw is only used To store bits Of the now. Time has bruised My fleshy crown. Never forget that it’s always then. When you do everything all over again. You knew that. You think between. The tube is a tangled option machine— There’re many selections from black to green. Top to bottom Squeaky clean; Sometimes I drink too much caffeine And my thoughts are infectiously rendered obscene. However, if weeds can give you cancer— Spade the dirt in your mind forever. You mustn’t neglect to turn the soil. And prepare the answers for the weather. Poet’s can sing and leave you bewildered. For ever-y-thing is preview filtered. Maybe they convey more than usually featured Or maybe they pray for every creature. And those awesome things we all go through, That same old dragon chasing you— Swooping in to rip out the truth Like sociopaths trying to have their world too. Anxiety is the sister of Buddha.