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Goal
Nobody would have to coerce me into staying here, the monsters, the mayhem, the man that awaits me, hell I saw a glimpse of him, talk about going from the second circle of Hell to the ninth plus “Triple B” thinks I’m a meanie. Baby, It’s Will Outside
I rarely wish anymore; I don’t ask for miracles, wait and hope or more like fear, I can’t tell count how many nightmares I’ve endured, but none of any prophecy as of late, yet I wish to go back to bed and turn off and on my lamp. Well Wish Me, Will.
Every time I go to speak, it comes out as a yawn, a tapestry of obscenity or praise for B III; how I wish I could know appreciation for keeping myself alive and all that’s required is taking pills slathered in peanut butter. The Language Of Will
As the song goes, “shut’em down, open up shop,” that’s my life I need to abandon this farce and go for something else and ain’t I writing a book, probably storing energy for an uglier load of trash, Black Friday. Will Be Back Soon
There are people out there fighting for my life, some who are protecting my son’s life and I dare to complain that I want all this living that I should be doing to mean something but nobody vetted my soul. “Will Vet For You.”
Burning the candle at both ends as it were but honestly, I choose writing, what did I hear in one of my daily motivations, the difference between I got to, and I get to and if I’m lucky I’ll live the later. “Will, A Motivational Tale.”
I was willing two work on two off days, to give myself a massive case of blue balls, to stare into my darkest temptations, let’s say choosing Silver *shudder* over Gold but what does it take to win. “On The Willing End” no, live on “the winning end.”
Last week I was too hot, this past week I was too cold, so when will I have a week when I’m just right, can’t say the people, precipitation, or my purpose are helping, considering I’m stuck in the day job, gratefully. “Willie, It’s Cold Outside”
Remember my dream last week, I woke up before I figured out what happened to myself and no I wasn’t infected with their stupidity because I refuse, no my infection is RAGE, and that energy had to go somewhere. “Beware The Walking Will”
As the song goes, don’t dream it’s over but my dream last week did nothing to ready me for what I would face this week though I am trying to figure it out, these hands have been bawled into fists or clutching weapons. “An Hour Of Will”
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