trouble is
they have been here
on the street
singing for a nickel
‘this is art’
blaming the system
for paiting a red ‘x’
on the front of their backs
Writing, Ideas, & Stories
trouble is
they have been here
on the street
singing for a nickel
‘this is art’
blaming the system
for paiting a red ‘x’
on the front of their backs
i created you
i.
like god with an atom
a sorcerer with a spell
a scientist with the elements
i gave you purpose;
with the swish of ink
with the words of centuries before, with the graceful eyes in my skill, and the hands dished from the pot of decades of molding-
this
is
mine.
it sleeps in my head
dodging bullets made of lead
we carry that blood,
but i gave you life-
your sluggish steps in my inner chambers
rattle while i rest
when you’re most upbeat
i am
down
today beat the shit out of me
same time tomorrow
same time tomorrow,
battered bones
mixed into shit pie
served all week