Vile photos and sounds play on 'palace' walls;
mud in her fingernails form shapes of the night's sticky, grubby events-
a twisted, ****** Rorscharch-esque blot.
Knee-deep in grit and grime, soot on her feet,
she sludges on, puking night after night on assorted side-walks
with soaked, soily calves.

'Just pretty pictures' painted on a wall
show her a true reflection of her mind;
she seeks familiarity, hides/searches in them for herself.
In distorted jumbles, she looks for her kind.

The splayed stuff stutter and splutter
and stop and grind.

Insomnia and intoxication,
a victim of lack of inspiration-
life falls into a slow degradation.

Nothingness swallows all once more.
She thrusts against the shoddy shut doors
while the slimy sticky dross glues her shoes to gory floors.

-she trails off with a wince
at the hat man's scoff.

Foul filth fills the squalid air; and
sullied and smoky, sighing, she (s)tumbles
halfway to sleep.

Just give me Jesus,
He’s all I need.
He’s always there,
He won’t leave me.
Like all the imperfect people out there who have.
He won’t give up,
Or just move on.
He will be here encouraging me.
Helping me.
Carrying my burden.
Holding my heart as I give it as an offering in my child state.
He shows me the low way.
He guides my eyes to the hills,
He takes me to places where no one else will be.
He is my friend,
My Savior,
My King.

When I feel down,
Or I’ve been thrown to the dirt,
All battered and scared.
He will clean my wounds and give me peace.
He will show me the way to go.
For the dirt is where the flowers grow.