I grow thorns in my tongue when i try to speak

I grow bursts on my lungs when i smoke my weed

Fallen poets crying flowers drowned in bacardi

Punctuated petals on my nightstand

Oh shit

Everything comes down to a story that could make you cry

But this story hasn’t ended in my joy ride

Like a suicidal poet

You don’t understand

Love has room to grow in the hills of my life