With the polar fire on;
I can catch me onto the muse of bliss.
And threads of words get slips;
with no intention of showing my whiz;
just to enjoy the moments’ chills.

When it spirals downwards the stairways;
Mother kinds me with lulls.
Is it necessary that I need to do this fuss?
Ain’t I became the normies lulz?!

I just lit my wills, my mind thinks;
Juices flowing on the paper has no more stirs.
But I’ve seen this to care less, cuz I know it eventually hits.