Sated

I can't sleep or manage speech so I guess I'll unleash these stray thoughts like dogs on a beach as my conscience hogs all the sheets next to me. We've woven threads of thought together to catch fresh from sea creatures increasing our net worth, decks never left, sun burned. Every stone stays unturned during day's occasion, rising like tides nightly in a daze of creation. It pays to be patient, just ask the participants partaking in phases of clinical arrangements. I can be cynical at the strangest times in relation to the most practical application of the adjective, like questioning the motives of researching patterns of consumer behavior, to me it's all laxatives. The sooner we favor the lack of physical possessions, stop upping our neighbors and take turns training the village's taters, I'd wager we'd have more funds for the production of actual life savers, cause right now I can't save s**t for the life of me, let alone for a wife and three. I dunno if that's even what I'm after, but the outlook's bleak from my rafter, hanging feet from the floor and I'm scared to release my grapple. Would I spring and roll or break both ankles? Cross my Snapple with a drop of acid so I can dot my eyes, open the lids to let wander the kid trapped inside. No wonder I'm having a hard time coping with this map, no guide. But perhaps I've tried laughing it off too frequently, while below the shaking belly were weakened knees. Just a dusty foot philosopher in search of a well above the purest filled aquifer. I'm surest til mocked with words, but stick to being stoned and I'm not concerned. I got a lot to learn still, and like a polymer each particle of knowledge I attain adds weight to the matter of the brain. At times it comes scattered like the rain, at others it batters like a wave. What type of haircut? I think I'd look dapper with a fade, so go ahead and hack it til it lays flat. Hope it looks good, there're no take backs, just slow growth like white lies from Pinocchio. I won't be home for supper, but if I am, I'll eat it like it's my last meal, last meaning the one most recently passed, stash as much in the gut cause it metabolizes fast. I think I'm filling up, I think I've had enough, I think I'm gassed by this lunch, sated, relaxed, sittin hunched, faded, cooked up some good lines chased with punch like I was hated.