Thoughts

These thoughts in this rhyme, I'm wondering if their mine.

I'm running off at the mind.

Realising, minimising the prime turf for the birth.

Lessen the nerf with lessons of girth.

I'm 'ma pop off outer the box, Jack is leaving the box.

He's not believing in the bollocks, he's evening the hydraulics, he's creasing the phonics.

He's increasing his knowledge of the homage, those that acknowledge the goings on in this programmed flow of the towing Suns.

I'm knowing none, I'm lowering the gun, I've dropped my assumption.

Now I'm holding on to the auto responses.

Those little nuances of imposing forces, two too awesome forces for the new, new War Of Causes.