It doesn’t make me any more real with my deal.
I just pick up the airwaves you do not see.
Then I don’t think there is anyway other way to be.
I doesn’t make any sense either, this fever.
That ripples through my mind like disease.
It certainly does not make it easier to see.
It doesn’t make me a special case, in a special place.
The time and space is the same for me as you.
I just loose that sense of reality that glues.
It doesn’t make need to bow for the sake of graces.
I can stand on these two broken legs like anyone.
After all fighting demons just like everyone.
It doesn’t mean I don’t want to to give it up.
Cut my loses and embrace the long dark sleep.
Fear my family cry in darkness and weeps.
It doesn’t mean I will let this dam thing win.
I still have one good arm and a head full of sin.
Just talk to me later when the alarm is out of din.
(I couldn’t come up with anything new for the new year but this old poem is kinda where my head is at right now. Hopefully 2017 will be kinder.)