Sold the last for a lick of it. Seems so fast yet it can’t be split. Torn to be a thread in the sea, a spit of a point on top of me. So I'll owe everything. Time is a softened sense of all thoughts trying to live. Torn in two to a cluster of cuts to lead into morning. How and why do we do. So I'll owe everything. Even though I'll see it in the morning I don't know if I can last another tow to take myself from pouring my last drag.