I raise my hand high
       because I want to feel the Sun
                and keep soberness low
                      because I want to have fun

A glass is a glass
until the glass leaves you f’d up.
Fighting the midnight train in some bubbly
that drowns you into abyss.
You can’t hold on,
because holding feels far worse than letting go.
So you let go with the glass still in your hand.
The hole still in your heart.

I can still see you and your Crowne Royal sitting on your throne after drowning in the tequila sunrise you left behind yesterday morning
You are my home, you are my salvation
You are my hell, you are my damnation
And I realize I can’t heal you.

It’s March now and you’ve been drowning in your sorrow for ten months, praying she can keep you from reaching the bottom of your bottle
She is your home, she is your salvation
She is your hell, she is your damnation
And she realizes she can’t heal you.

She isn’t like the woman you’re used to
She doesn’t have that plump, patient, strawberry smile and wide eyes with a wolf howl in her throat
She doesn’t have that serenity and solitude, walking out of the kitchen with Tennessee whiskey and dried up roux on her apron towards her white Pickett fence, reminiscing on the days when the walls were made of barb wire

She doesn’t have her freedom when she roams, barefoot in nothing but your long ***** flannel as she calls the babies in for supper, kicking up red Georgia clay towards the Milky Way sky

But she’s a somebody
She’s a somebody with her long, fake eyelashes curled up towards the ceiling and her plumped up lips with a price tag on her Cupid’s bow

She’s a somebody who’s hair falls flat in the morning, and even though she doesn’t know what it’s like to pull twigs out of her curls when she wakes up after dancing around with you in the barn at three o clock, laughing in whispers so her babies don’t hear her

I love her

And I hope that she at least believes she can heal you
And I hope that I at least believe she can heal you
And I hope that one day, you reach your hands up to heaven and remember what it’s like to hold the heart of God on a Sunday morning, and be forgiven

And I hope that you’ll believe that he can heal you
Because he is our home, he is our salvation
He is our hell, he is our damnation
And one day, I know he will heal you.

Manic mimosas
On a syndicate smile
Bourbon scotch cherry blossoms
With cinnamon eyes
He’s the only one who knows
how deeply he affects me.

Tonight I need to drown in you
Feel the loneliness consume me
With no desire to grow
From the garden I was planted in
Staring at Louisiana’s root -
how deeply he affects me.


I don’t want to be beautiful
I don’t want to be happy
I don’t want to be skinny
I don’t want to be strong
Let me drown drown drown

With the sheer knowledge
I’ll be laughing like God
After freezing a man
who sings my name
for him, I will return

To manic mimosas
On a syndicate smile
Bourbon scotch cherry blossoms
With cinnamon eyes
He’s the only one who knows
how deeply he affects me.

She was too drunk.
She had drank a fifth of *****
over the course of four hours.
Oh we tried, but it wasn't happening.
It was sloppy and cumbersome;
we were like two hippos wrestling
in the mud.
I got up and left her to her
impotent dreams.
I made a cup of coffee, and
sat in the dark.
Images ran through my mind.
I turned on a light, and started
writing.At least something was working.

I sat on top of the world; everyone knew my name
Now I try to find my way back, all I know is shame

My cars; crashed into parties, everyone wanted to be in my fancy wear
Why didn’t I look up investing and insuring; now I don’t mind if its rag, please just give me something to wear

My name was held in high esteem, white line called to me from Whitney’s rear
She never came back for me, but watched as I derail

Day and Night, I looked up to Whiskey, it became my religion
Now at the altar in search of salvation from the true religion

                           ♚
                   Kunbi Dia