The fertility of unrefined thought

Im still writing with my lucky pen.

Its been broken in half for a long time now but the ink still makes words.

The words sometimes cheer or bring despair, sometimes the rant gets caught in my facial hair.

There are holes in my boots and there's holes in my life but that just lets out the shit.

Ive yet to see a wiseman stand in my shoes, and see the light of day from my point of view, but perhaps Im just not wise or Ive soap in my eyes.

I try to keep away from the things I despise but they just stuck to my feet like so much fresh shit and buzzing with flies.