November 20, 2007
Papers strewn across the bedroom floor.
Failed ideas came from the scattered mind.
But inspiration came from a jet black cloud.
A new paper is drawn as the pencil flies.
Corruption is fed through a high school clique.
All within will slowly, surely die.
But they don't care, they have to keep their flair,
They have to make sure no one sees them cry.
The scattered mind meetsthe self-blown prep.
The latter wipes the tear from her eye.
The writer smiles and extends his hand,
And helps her through an overbearing time.
Now that the problem has been solved out,
The writer hopes the prep can turn around. But she just laughs and slaps him in the face,
Saying she can do it on her own.
After three long years, they fnally meet back up,
The prep has got a baby in her hands.
She lived too fast and got all knocked up,
And she's falling short of falling in the sand.
The writer is going on day by day,
Making sure that he controls his life.
A silver ring shines on his left hand.
He's found his happiness and his wife.
The prep now pleads for him to help her out,
Saying that money would suit her fine.
But he just laughs, and repays a three-year debt.
He says, "Girl, this problem isn't mine!"

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