My heart is not for dragging 

It’s sunny out. 

As I am not especially sad today, 

There is little impetus 

For the written word. 

But to look at suffering, 

I say this,

I have allowed too many strangers 

To find their way into my camp

Familiarize themselves with my altar,

Lay their heads upon it 

And turn my crystals to ash,

My shells to dust, 

My idols to emptiness. 

When they leave, 

And I peer upon the ruins,

I see only the sad remains 

Of failed attempts 

At true love. 

When praying goes wrong, 

And my words fall on deaf ears, 

When the sacred soft animal 

Of my body is desecrated,

I must offer grace.

I must heed the words 

Of that still small voice, 

Which tells me to stand up 

On the porch 

On a sunny day like today 

And give thanks for this life, 

Rather than rage, 

Rather than ruin.

My altar is not for stomping, 

My heart is not for dragging 

Behind you. 

If you will not hold it, 

I will gladly take it and place it once more 

In its right position, 

At the center of me. 

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Finally

Ready to die 

Too heavy to cry 

Aspire for nice wings 

So I can steadily fly. 

Sick of interpretations

Sick of your perfect hatred 

Sick of you workin late and

Feeling like I’ve been taking 

All of this love for granted 

Sick of this fucking planet 

Really I can’t stand it. 

Really I’m just a phantom 

A shadow of a former self 

That wasn’t even whole 

It’s been ten years 

Of me searching for my soul 

At the hands of the unfinished 

hands of the broken 

So I’m alone w a mac, maschine, and a Roland. 

And I dream of just floating 

I think we’re just hopeless 

Drink somethin potent

Hoping you notice 

My self destructive tendencies 

Looking outside for the inside enemy. 

All the things you said to me 

I let it rest in peace 

God descend from the heavenly 

Been on some fucked shit 

Since I was seventeen 

When I told you the truth 

You told me you’d never leave. 

But what a load of crock

Wow I’m so shocked 

Now I need to stop 

Chilling on the block 

Stay workin in my room 

Until I finally get my shot. 

Couplets for my good pal Jesus

Jesus is not my copilot 

But he did give me an Uber ride tonight.
Jesus would take the wheel 

If he weren’t already driving. 
Jesus was born more than two thousand years ago 

And he can drive stick. 
Jesus can turn water into wine 

But he can’t turn left on a busy street. 
Jesus was a nice guy 

He offered to smoke pot with me in my hotel room. 

I politely declined. 
Jesus suffers from long refractory periods

Guess there won’t be a second coming.