My life is a hand of poker played in a crooked casino,
Losing at every turn, this cancer beating my chemo,
These syringes take me higher than crack and a cappuccino,
I will end up in a box dressed up with a tie and khakis or chinos,
I've come back down, parachuted from being so broke, God has my soul out for repo,
When I turn around I want to make my entrance grandly incognito,
This battle is Lost, my blood drawn out by racist mosquitoes,
Now I get up seeking revenge for my peoples,
No one around me departs after using those needles,
For once in my life, my actions are right not illegal,
I won't depend on the gamble of the lawyer and his paralegal,
I circle around back to this social casino,
I wasn't strong to beat this depression, and therapy was my chemo,
This is my relapse from being alone and my life played out as a silly game of keno.

With this walk, with this talk I raise my hands up to the sky,
When the Grey clouds would arrive this day would be one to survive,
Hook me up to this joke played on my life
See me smile see me laugh it is a rocky ride,
It's amusing oh your stories in this road
Being traced by the blinks in my eyes
My breaths my heartbeats; living free not slaved freedom at last,
My mountain top is a treacherous climb,
My wide river crossed with gasps of air not giving up,
With this walk and this talk, the fights not over cancer you won't take my life.

I have walked the path righteous men should walk, I speak of non religious based Gods, no books with synonyms  and semantics to dictate how to grow,
Perfection isn't holding hands with men, excellence is perhaps men's closest ally,
I try and try again but then-
It sets in this mindful thought a seed of fact, a seed to be the crop to translate what these eyes see and these ears hear,
as appreciative I am thanks from these lips simply aren't enough,
For having this machine in my head; my gratitude leads me to say that it isn't the path of the righteous men- It is the imperfections of being men that help correct our heading in this earth

Fictional lies, have thee crossed into my colloquial reality,  why; I beg posing as if it was you who coerced me to these cuffs,
Waves of despair and ominous character break into my soul-
It is this the harvest, a fertile soil, take me away it is my season-
Falling into an abyss is the norm, there is no control;
My compass points north, I've woken up from this dream- this fire has been extinguished;
It is fictional, I've got more for which to Live

If Adam and Eve were a true story; I would sin for that woman to live in eternal glory

I am separated from the rest based on my uniqueness it is said, an illusion that even I can reach success  
My beginnings trace back to a trap I could not be freed from,  my home,
Inject me with combustible fluids to start once again my soul, please I beg,
My neurons need to fire and fire time and time again
No, it's a Mirage here I am once again
Enslaved and chained to what "they" accuse me of,  I can't be transplanted from where I am therefore this is my sentence;
If so put me out my misery for I have already withered away,
Be the best you can it is said, but
How can it be explained if even education was a privilege I couldn't get,  as you see my uniqueness washed away by a stray bullet in my brain

So much of life
Is wasted
Nine to Five

Exhaustion cripples
Down time, anxiety
Controls the next

Worry about bills
The looming certainty
And lingering doubt

Up at early
The pattern
Hardly broken

A vacation spent
Away; life's return
Still follows how

The training of
Nine to five
Work and life

But coffee copes
When the restless
Rise