Yeah,
this drags on and on.
The slow burn,
the sickness touch.
Keeping intimate and fair,
at least in that the hate is equal.
Never asked.
Never told.
Try to be somebody.
Respect.
Reply.
Rejected applications.
Fired up,
cocaine residues.
A past backed
by dollar bill inner tubes.
Grasping at straws
has always been
my favorite game.
Never was a gambler;
too cheap,
too dumb,
too far gone, motherfucker.
They tried to bring the lie
and accuse me,
but I made them my truth.
My hand is destiny,
I am no savior,
I’m the ultimate traitor.
Sometimes,
turning a blind eye
inwards
shows what you can’t deny.
No cellophane.
No latex skin.
Bare back and raw again.
Get paid.
Get fucked.
Forsake the amateur shit.
Become professional.
Either you make it
to the end,
or you’re lost
somewhere along the way.
No chance.
Can’t recover.
Too many scars.
But I keep coming back,
tasting the ashes,
as if they’ll take away
the taste
of bitterness.
Of defeated heroes.
of a promise that I made,
to myself,
but I burned it down
with everything I love inside.
I can still hear the screaming
in my head.
Too far gone,
past the afterhours light.
Oh, my God;
it’s happening again.
HG – 2018
Beautiful.
This is beautiful.