Buckshot Has A Voice

Your words…

Are your weapons of choice

Who knew buckshot had a voice…

You’ve made sure the shrapnel is deeply buried

A cellular pain that must be carried

How much more can I take…

Before I bend so far, I snap and break?

I’m out of my head tonight

I’ve conceded the fight

But the question’s remain

In my mind, they are a permanent stain

The what if’s?

The how’s?

The when’s?

The where’s?

Impossibility has punctured my tranquility

It’s needling need…a junkie’s disability

My heart-burns with destructive despair

And no amount of antacid

Can clean it’s toxic air

Right now, nothing is placid

A Cup With No Lid

How can a thumb crush?

Pressing mine against the window

I’m looking at the world on the other side

It’s making me so cold in the middle…

My eyes close on a deep breath

As my thumb depresses the up

My spirit is in such a shaking rush…

I’m standing on one leg like a pink flamingo

So pretty to look at…even though I’m nibbling at my hide

I wanna get high and lost, and that’s not a riddle

A light shone down yesterday, it was a little death

I tried to catch it, but I didn’t have a lid on my cup