To get back in the game, I need one good hit. A horse with early lick; that has more heart than Joe Louis and Jake LaMotta combined. I need decent odds, at least 8-1. The racing gods have to smile on me one more time. At least for 6 furlongs, and then baby, I'm back in the game.
Faltering plans An indecisive mind, Consistency in itself is an art An explosive start! Followed by; Fumbling fingers and idiotic ideas. What next? Do we pitstop like Hamilton? We were in pole position. Reassert, focus and keep on track. We are the drivers of our own Destiny...
I've been trying to keep up one poem a day. It's tough. I'm sure other writers can relate. This poem is about trying to keep that target going. A Formula 1 racing theme was completely unintentional and off the cuff, but seemed to work nicely. So it stayed and I kinda like the end result. I hope you do too.
Racing thoughts do me no good Why they wait for when I lay I never understood, Darkened hours when all I want Is to drift in skies with unfocused eyes From twisted hells to jubilant highs All forgot, the following day
drifting musings I had more ideas but brevity suites this
I hate you and your new car. I hope every time you go to the gas station, it's three dollars per gallon. I hope you make so many enemies that there's a line to sugar your gas tank, I hope your engine knocks and your head gasket blows and your timing belt snaps and your rims warp and your tires pop every time you pass my street. I could still beat you in a race, even with your ugly sport package and plasti-dipped grill, I could still beat you in a race because I am angrier than you. I am angrier than you, and I always will be. I hate you, And I hate your new car.
this is the censored one because they don't like me
Why can’t I go to sleep? When I do it just repeats. “I don’t care if you don’t like this beat It’s what I think, it’s me, it’s me,” She said to herself in her bed. I’m fighting against myself The battle turned into a war, And I’m not afraid, I’m just worried Worried about being a warrior. I fight all day, my soul is tired But I don’t let myself rest when the time is best or when it expires The night falls but my heartbeat rises, Racing thoughts run circles in my head. My head, my bed. My brain is inside of my head. My head is part of me. Aren’t we all just a brain in a cage? Tonight the cage is electric, Nothing soothes the rage or stops the sizzling pain. I’m numb to the zap of the cold, hard metal. I want to lay in a field of sage, Lay me among the wildflowers. I’ve never seen blue sky or blinding light, At least not in the night. The moon shines, but not enough for me! This perfect creation isn’t bright enough for me! At least not in the night... I will lay my head when all this passes I’ll wander off to sleep And the next time I come to bed, It will just repeat.