It can't buy me love It can't buy me happiness Can it buy back the lives Of those have finally went Home to the other side? It doesn't grow on trees. I believe that's a **** lie!
Never even question why the sadness comes Sometimes, I don't even know it's happening! There's many ways to skin a potato. But ya know, I am old fashioned.
Tomatoe. Tomato. Another bottle. You can't drink away the trouble and sorrow. As if there's no tomorrow!
The sins of our nature Is our biggest threat to our nation Along with this ******* Having issues with immigration! Pfff. Land of the free... But most of us can't afford patience! That's nothing compared to The net worth of YOUR life is only a small loan of a few bucks. I trust a lot, things but **** a stimulus!!!
Water in my roots And once again, my stems bleed me out of an aquamarine cyclone Flying through every cloud, floating through the dopamine daydreams manias and monotones After a decade of droughts I twirled in a tornado While the demons ate my brain So I designed a tavern To lock myself in
Water in my roots And once again, a blurred vision of ecstasy blinds my eyesight Looking in opaque mirrors, pressing the pearls of the pendulum sepias and saxophones I danced through a hurricane While the angels saved my torso So I tore the broken chains To let myself out
I left Billy last summer, and at first it was hard To not feel her blankets weigh me down into a pentagon pool of starches and creams To not feel her sugar rush supreme through the highs and the lows of an extra-large platform Until she resurfaced, kissing my lips raw until my throat burned dry And I knew she had to let me go.
A questionnaire of my family history is only a monologue I tell myself. Practicing in front of the mirror to get better. So, the next time the doctor’s words I am sorry falls back into their lips. & I am onto my feet. A vapid, monologue screenplay. The rehearsed version of my life. Answering the questions. Somehow still fumbling through the words. Yet leaving voids in my answers as my family’s members absence did. Mother? Two strokes. She’s alive but not apparent enough to know it. Her blood runs too thick. Blood pressure always boiling. Mother knew how to live fast but never well enough. Father? Dead. He was alive but never long enough to hold it. Heart always dropping and head into the palms of his hands. Thirst never stopping. Alcoholism is a wicked thing I say. Siblings? Brother. Alive somehow not present enough to count it. Healthy. We count his days as tick-tack-toe though. Family history has a lineage that says the roots in this family tree are rotten. Sister. Victim to mental health. The prodigy of a broken foster system. I reckon her days are counted in lines. Between days she’s alive & the days she wishes she wasn’t. The doctor does an homage in the way she bows her head. Makes the hollowed-out chest of mine seem like it’s filled with water. I let out a gasp. Trying to fill the room where all the air has seemed to have evaporated. Hoping to catch my breath. My story filling their break room like a lingering coffee smell. Keeping them brewed in satisfaction that it could always be worse. My story always seemed like the punch line for better days. Our family has been waiting since genesis for such. These are the days I wish I believed in something. A god to drown every nightfall with dawn.
family sickness death grief history health wellness doctor god
The pink sky in this gloomy evening made your heart feel something That orange ball of fiery in the sky made you presumptuous Then it all faded to grey Clarifying your uneasiness of what’s at bay Too fast for your mood fluctuations Even though it matches This weather is too much a part of your madness Everything from the sky To the rivers flowing To the air & the soil you neglect by wearing shoes How are you going to be the true you If the one thing that’s tryna help you Is dying cause of you