Wish in Another
Quick to preach to the choir until one loses love themselves,
Held close like wicker heat from the fire I feel from hubris stuck in Hell,
Nothing compares to death as it creeps up on all of us,
Even if some of us are scared of debts or street thugs that follow lust,
A rebel with a weapon, and a mother with a sense of logic is all that is needed,
Slaps on the wrist won’t know if a splint is rotted when a fall succeeded.
I think they’re convinced and certain the sons of men work in a bunch of marital spates,
Parent shaming even if world governments weren’t corrupt as Daryl Gates,
But people in Hell want ice water as I’m wading for answers,
Even if it’s evil as well in life’s honor for the training of manners,
You cannot teach honesty, you can only encourage it,
You’ll walk out the door, but you won’t leave the furnace lit?
The daemonic, yet auspicious wound refuses to heal like a grudge kept for years,
Shown off like a battle scar, or a Coupe de Ville to then trudge or schlep for peers,
High school came and went homie, but this chicken came home to roost,
Not unlike the landscape cracking as it is splitting blame zoned to shoot,
We’re not friends, and personally, I don’t keep you close as an enemy,
This is no funeral for we won’t need a rose as a memory,
Some things need to be risen from the dead,
Just as some things need to stay buried in the sand,
Try telling that to the business of the Feds,
Last day at the docks even and still way wary of the plan.
Too many believe that a .223 can't do any grief unless they’re standing at a podium,
Without Lou Gehrig’s disease to shoot merrily at police then understanding it’s an idiom,
Death comes and goes, but the world stays the same,
You can run into the jungle, and then watch the perro blaze the cane,
Sugar or otherwise the coke is brilliant,
Used to fund corrupt regimes and blokes with millions,
Never did I think that I would see how bad it really is,
Until reading or seeing the kids carrying brown bags of swilly piss,
Going in for ourselves even if it is the burning parlor reeling from the gutters,
My god, they’re more of a pain in the ass than Sterling Archer dealing with his mother.
If it looks like a beaver with a bill, it’s probably not a duck but a platypus,
First impression’s a bitch, but honestly what a shmuck for analysis,
Calling the charcoal black as it cooks inside of a kettle of woes,
Even karma’s a bitch, then I should die as the devil you know.
The grass is greener on the other side if God brings gifts as anomalies,
Pseudo-riffic, yet scientific on all things bridged as it is chronically,
Freedom matters more than the retention of hypocrisy,
Speaking out loud in the mind even if in detention with strict lock and key,
Some thoughts cannot be stifled, even as others are forgotten,
I shall not abandon my post if it’s my brothers that are rotten.