I make my own soup and I kiss my own boo-boos,
I tell tall tales about love, hell, and voodoos.
I cover up my sadness with jokes, smoke, and malice
Who knew living a tragic life could feel so lavish?
God and I have a pretty tight relationship
I talk to him every night when my fingers touch my lips.
I throw my bones at dogs and contort my soul for fun,
Chewed up, spat out. I’m just like everyone.
-SLuR