somethings usually just not okay. but thats okay

like to start off with saying I’m lost. There ain’t a map, way or glossary ‘to take it. at all. Depraved. It ain’t sacred. I’m naked. Response? scared of impatience, so anxious. i’m taking a fall. fallacious. paying contours gray with the absence of paint on the walls. state of elation? Sapped. And my grace?.. is an absence of substance I take overhauled. pass me your loving. stay away from me. God. Give me a break. as I claim disarray as my God. Nirvana takes over as I ‘filet and then prod, at my flesh ’til the red blends innately with smog. Americanah. So contagious. It’s gone. Now picture courageous in ‘bombs. To the point where bravery borders deception. Post mortem, now all the good efforts feel ‘sort of neglected. I didn’t step on the land mine to be regarded as hero. Now I man an unwanted purple heart for my ignorance. Zeroes and ones, binary read on the back light. A robotic grin erupts as they’re playing their bagpipes. Demolish my ear drums. Monkey hears no evil, but he fears what you strum, and. You pluck your guitar strings when we unveil relief in percussion. A scar ain’t a scar without something that fits you. That’s why lovers carve into bark, their somber initials. Take a stab in the dark. The knife? the same that my wrists used. The pain in your heart that’s engraved by a chisel. We stay after dark, to praise a modern-day raising of art casing after a summers day wane in the park. I summoned your name, feigned dumb, but okay. as Rain blushes, the chain rusting bathes off with the beige/bronze that pays homage to veins. like ‘handcuffs snapped-off, like a slash/ as the blood lathers and stains. You can’t cut it, you can’t stomach the pain. You lunge after sensations you’re addicted too; as plains plummet in range. Don’t lay me to rest. Just lay me to misuse. Just lie me to waste. Let me lay with my issues. As the Nile drain drives me away. Wish trees were designed ‘outta clay so my tears could cry ’em away. Wash out delays, instead of watching it blossom. They lied. There ain’t a foundation once you hit bottom. Staying awake, after days crouched from the sharpshooting. I call it a camoflauge daze: Rehearsing what to say, so, you sound sane when you talk to ’em

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s