Scribblings of the Opiated Sherpa

A cold window, And a hard tiled floor, Add a half-hour of time, To come up with thoughts galore. I think about you, And what we are now. I also try to believe, How far we can go and what we'll allow. My thoughts can be so detailed, From minute one to our last hour. They bring somewhat of a smile to my face, And a frown for thoughts that are unfortunately sour. You can't say I'm not prepared, I do think a lot. I have a lot of time to think, But still can miss a spot. I know it won't be easy, For what I want to accomplish, I am willing to go the distance, No matter what place I finish. I have so much time to ponder, On this dark lonely Tuesday, But I am glad to have this sheet here, To say what I have to say.

Kick up the leg, Shake around that arm, "Wah-pah!" What... What the hell am I doin'? Is it wrong what I'm doin'? Well... maybe it'll help, If... if... I told you what I was doin'. Yeah, that's it... yeah. First of all, Could this idea be any worse? This poem doesn't even rhyme. Second of all, How shall I say it... I like you. I like you a lot. Third of all, (Like you can actually say third of all, you idiot!) Damn! No inner monologue on paper! I would like to... Huh, whatever comes after this part, I guess. Finally, "Wah-pah!" I mean "Wah-pishh!" No, wait. I meant "Wah-pah!"