So many sins bounce around
your soul never finding calm.
Bleed the ****** thing dry.
Forgive and forget it won't
break you. The soul is cruel.
Cassandra promises your fall.

We blushed at the memories of passion
  from the years we were still hopeful.
  We're old fat people who fear time's
  unyielding brutality. I stare at name tags
  but wander among wreckage stunned by
  how close life flys to death day to day.

It gets hard to hear over the noise of our times.
Everyone screams their bedridden complaints over
again like we've never heard. We're blind not deaf.
The Voice whispers at 3am when I can't stop thinking
long enough to sleep. It sounds like mom and god and
lovers lost long ago and old men speaking of old wars
and young pups who want to taste blood of new battles.
I lament and repent and resent and relive my life told
in dead night quiet as I listen with laughs and tears to
The Voice That is Great Within Us.

Pluck a string and strike a key
and play a song with poetry called
lyrics and make me feel like I never
did before. Make me laugh and cry.
Make me see the errors of my ways.
Help me right my wrongs and forgive
those who are all as broke as we.

It's unjust, mistaken, rained upon the lambs.
  They're all innocent. I own each ounce of anger.
  Brutality lurks just beneath my smile.
  I inherited my war broke dad's rage as my own.
  I keep it at bay best I can. Addiction is my lover.
  She holds me. She calms me. She makes me forget.

Care about every ******* thing.
Feel everyone's pain.
Weep for every lost dog and cat
and wash the feet of the poor.

Live in a garret and drink
cheap wine. **** out the
window because the toilet
one floor down is busy.

Win hearts and scatter them
to the winds. Suffer alone so
the poems bleed your tears.
Speak in cryptic poet tongues.

What beautiful madness is discovered
  cleaning up after the dreadful dead?
  The living feast on sin's delicious
  offerings but we don't hide our sins
  because we always expect one more day.
  Loved ones hide our failings in hearts.