Do not fade into the anonymity of everyday life
Find the avenue in which your voice echoes
Cling to the thresholds of any success
And never let go

If I were a praying man
I'd pray that every athlete or actor -
Who held out on a deal
Because they wanted more -
Would get every type of cancer

If I were a religious man
I'd wage jihad upon
Every company which values
the lives of workers at pennies per hour
So they can sell excess to the poor
And watch them **** each other

If I had a god
He'd smite every shark
Which took thing of necessity
And turned them into poker chips
So they could pay tribute to a false idol

Yes, maybe these things could happen,
But I'm not a religious man
I'm a drunk/high man
And these thoughts
Are just a night's sleep away
From being forgotten

There was a long road
from the church to the farm house
and ten acres of land was never enough to disappear
but we tried our very best
the fields spanned out in wooden fence borders
until they met with dirt side roads
sheep, cows, and horses
and mud tracked jeans
we built dens in the woods
out of whatever we could scavenge
with wheat hanging limp from lips
we graduated to the days of the pretender
and started memorizing names like
RJ Reynolds and Phillip Morris
our fingers grew as yellow as our teeth
Tobacco Road Hobos
sticking up a thumb
with a Kamel Red pinched between index and middle
that's the gun metal blue smoke screen
rattling lungs in the morning
scorched throats at night
and a pair of mud tracked jeans
Kings of Tobacco Road

at the dining hall
swipe me in please
hunger runs wild among the domestic wolves
all licking their chops
salivating over some new meal ticket
people swirling around and around
trying to assemble a life
from the rubble of those before them
I’m building sand castles
filled with sea shells
to cut the feet of oblivious children
not vindictive, but I see your point
who put this song on?
nothing but wailing fat ladies
and droning piano loops
make me a chart topping heart stopper
blotter paper and eye droppers
we used to fill our journal with raps
because at the time G-Unit was in
but we grew up to fill dream journals
with wild cowboy hay-makers
please let this be the one
the one to sweep me away
to paparazzi and front porches
and good loving
and I’m an instant-gratification limelight right now
kinda guy
with a crooked smile
and a poem on the tip of my tongue

nothing in our pockets but dirt we picked up along the way
she carries a locket with her
and it’s empty inside
she says she is waiting for the perfect moment
to fit between the fake gold
old souls in foolish bodies
smiling because it was all we had
he drinks in the woods after school
because the lesson plan never quite clicked
so he’s all sheets in the wind
as the time bomb ticks
one looks for the love she was
convinced she never deserved to give herself
they are all looking for the next fix of life
experiencing the world in ounces, milliliters, milligrams
shouting protests into the mirror
he is running away from reality
until he finds the life which suits him best
he flinches away from touch and contact
with eyes glimmering with eye drops
nothing in our pockets
but the baggage we picked up along the way

He was never afforded the luxury of a fresh start
his religion painted depictions of him
a silhouette entrenched in a thick bank of fog
The earth of his homeland has forgotten the taste of his footfall
left to find his own stake in reason and meaning
he emerged a cultist of jaded
false idol to the yearning masses
a means to an end for the end of meaning
the pounding of feet and fists
an eternal drumming
the call to action
too quiet to not be heard
his movements carried the voices
of birds too feeble to migrate away from icy fingers
he swims upstream until his body
becomes the sediment in which we plant our flag of victory

Circling at speeds too fast to blur
the edges are edged out of peripherals
tick tock spoke the clock
as laughter erupts from the hungry bellies
of a million explosions waiting to happen
breathing out fumes of cough syrup
saying things like
I am so ****** up right now
wading through the *** of honey
to rescue the husks of dead flies
fists firmly grasping nothing but air
the message in the bottle is blank
close your eyes and open your ears
the fire is about to die
like us it too craves oxygen
which is ****** out of your lungs
with each couch depressing sigh
summer fades into snowy winter
in the blink of an eye
and the clock still sits on the wall in judgement
tick tock
tick tock