I didn’t wake up this morning
I didn't die but I don't feel around


Same clothes on my back as that handsome ******* on that digital plaque.

Original thought is for someone else, so let me get it straight instead of beside myself.

Ignorance is only bliss if it’s not *******.

And

Down by the river, he wakes before the flies.

And he’s thinking about oh all those lies,
Brought up by burning bridges, and he thinks about the message, and always about demise.

To surmise would surprise, as ego tends to flow.
But won’t you know, the **** has to go, so please be so bold as to let them out of their choke hold.

To face the fear of being sincere
To recognise it is you who’s wrong, of what’s been said and what's been done the weight it weighs a tonne.

Toxic white teeth and corrosive white rage have caused the uproar spilled on this page.

Down by the river, the bodies float and soon we cannot breathe, for the flies have arrived, the air is thick, and nobody is able to act quick. Despite sharp wit and an inability to quit, we cannot see through this fog or pass through this bog.
There is a blockage, and it is not age, but denial of its mind from its heart.
Down by the river there is no stream.

Only steam and sludge, a stain and pain, that i fear shall remain.

To cover up a genocide, make it murders.

To cover up murders, make them murderers.

Murmur their names, slander their siblings, that is where you have won.

But someday soon,
Perhaps this one
I will be happily proven wrong.
And when I am, I a man, will admit so, and relief of peace must surely ease the troubled minds of this one mind world.