I’m not tired but there are sleep spots in my irises,
And I’m contemplating tomorrow’s leftover dinner,
Whether I’ll feed them to the saint at my gate or to the sinner on my porch,
Soon enough the sun will come up and break through,
Potholes strewn on my street show me that things have gone down.

Treading lightly cause I might wake up those dogs,
Nowadays I see empty collars,
And my footsteps hitting the ground as I’m running,
Hearing the barks and howls of what cannot get on the streets,
Good luck, headache.

Gravel crunches beneath the feet of the liar,
Now on the paper that is clenched in his hand,
Spells the time of his vision being blinded by bathroom porcelain,
Cuts and bruises that few, yet so many would understand,
Yet he fell and now he falls again.

Treading lightly cause I might find a weapon,
Nowadays I see that weapon,
And my heartbeats hitting my chest as I’m running,
Hearing the rumbling of thunder and lightening,
Good luck, headache.