The Writer In Me Wants You To Know

I hope you find a way to forgive me mama I've grown to be bad but blessed- more of the former good sustains but crime makes me warmer when my demons speak, everything gets slimmer. Your beloved son has dropped way down from the best I'm left only with the devil to contest a being who is to himself, a pest sustaining himself only when the town is hit with unrest. All over the news is reported, the bank Job the mastermind behind this is my friend Bob in our notorious restroom he is the bathtub so, on a big bank, just five young men successfully rob. Guilt has become a wealthy landlord and ready to let scenes from the robbery have glued my mind like magnet I'm dangerous and filthy, but I never regret the writer in me wants you to know, I won't forget. Dear mother, you and myself, I betray I've constantly exposed my life on a tray and the future is as unclear as shady grey, mama, please, never stop to pray. I've made the heavens stop pouring snow my no is yes and my yes is no yet, I still write poetry even while this low and the writer in me, wants you to know. I have written a hundred poems and a few prose danger is my twin and nothing comes close you've trained me well with nurturing overdose here I am giving you so much pain instead of rose. It may have been better if I was a daughter learning more to be homely when I was riding a scooter I remember when simple courage, I could not muster now, I simply pass a stream and it becomes dirty water. I have left so many clues for the law not to miss don't spare me this time mama, please go ahead and hiss make sure my action and it consequence passionately kiss the writer in me, wants you to know this.