Mouth agap inable to put words to shape.
Heart full of love , Blood pumping hate,
In determination to make this life, Not my fate.
Writing sober helps me grow and makes
What i speak so much golden.
Words are tired and repeated `till they`re old
Although some conitue to grow like mold.
Yet can be warm like a spring day,
Or be the ice in my lemonade.
Keeping it cold.