Excess
Encapsulates the truth
When you express

All that is or isn’t me

Given to the broad and minimal
I understand it’s intentional.

I feel like going insane
Searching my pockets
For tickets to the bronze train

The tracks are nickel and steel
Your fingers plucking them out

The tangled and webbed
Struggling to be free
Excess
When you express
All that is and isn’t me.

I see versions of prosperity.
They pass my eyes.
Flashes of freedom
In disguise

My thoughts become liquid
Like a watery gloom

Filling it up
Pouring into the room

Then sweeping me away
Like a used broom.

I see versions of prosperity pass my eyes.
Flashes of freedom
In disguise

Stolen villages
And labored hands
Forgive my feet.
They walk the conquered lands.

Footprints impound my secrets
While writing my lyrics
Washing away my muse
Making them known to few

Drunken veins
Nervous brain
Because I’m of secrets
I‘ll hide
They’ll remain

Please ask a question
I want you to know
I am invisible
I didn’t grow

Ducked by mirrors
Reality begins to sear
The glass walls
Express my fear

Drunken veins
Nervous brain
Because I’m of secrets
I’ll hide
They’ll remain

I wait a minute
I want to sing
The internal bleed
External bells ring

Please ask a question
I want you to know
If I am invisible
I will not grow…

Some eerie dissonance
He always seems to reverence
Instead, I chose this presence.

Until now, I realize
The dangerous game he played

It took me until now.
The dangerous mistake I made.

Impregnated with uncertainty
Long overdue

Waiting on opportunity
My patience is subdued

Attempted abortions
With 4th trimester distortions
Stillbirth ensues

Screams inside the sirens
Struck with hospitalization
Bedridden doormen
Realization…

The time arrives
With labor pains
And liberation pangs

I cut the umbilical chains
Only a piece of me remains

I feel the guarantee
The time is now
I feel parturiency…

When I think of her
She inspires me to fight.
When I think of him
He inspires me to write.

Only when I think of them
Therein lies truth

Existing in small portions
Alive with no distortions

I misuse revival
When I discover them
I abuse survival

Overdone with zeal
I try to take control
They remind me
My hands are not real

When I put on the chains
I pull to them.
My rope hangs.

I dismantled.
Only a piece of me remains.

My method sentimental
Bold is my mood
Surely with light
I must improve

I throw my self into a haze
In a mythical daze
Of rhythmic cortexes
A phased phrase

I run for a day
With the dreams
I cast truths away

My method sentimental
Bold is my mood
Surely with light
I must improve