numbers walk the track
looking for formulas with no equations
through the fractions of fence division
some have it naturally others don’t show it
heard cinder blocks debating kicking the bobo
about parole being nothing but a cheap date
the high maintenance type
high security kind that likes to get high
the released demon hidden in the fumes 
of a relapsing addicts sigh
wind chimes back-up singers for mumbling regrets like…
who gets high on life these days
it’s as synthetic as middle school drugs
sleeping genies, be weary of rubbing pill bottles the wrong way
they’re emotional
ain’t no wisdom in wishes, atleast not in the first three
death misses all of us from the moment we’re born again
freedoms nothing but a spoiled kids trash talk
ain’t much of a prize fighter either, or believer
where are all the prodigal sons at?
they better come back before they change the locks
these boxes only open one way like coffins
mine has… scratched ceilings
lost keys
with only finger nail clippings of a dream
i no longer remember