Nothing else. Okay, the pay.

There you go.

I’m sorry I can’t give up, I’m sorry that I’m out of luck, I’m sorry that I give a fuck, I’m sorry that I even talk, I’m sorry that I write instead, I need these demons, out of my head.

It backwards too

Would it be

The same to you

How long it goes

There’s no thanks

Or those abound

So send me none

So she will be

Only hope

In company

The end is clear

Near is me

Alive or weird

Somehow I

Still find that power

To confess each hour

To the lord

I cannot find

Who’s already there

With all allowed

Perfect timing

Perfect rhyming

Perfect line

In perfect time

There’s gotta be

More to give

If people would

Just learn to live

And I’m going to scream

How does this panic stop

Over with and start again

I am turning into the rock

They stopped throwing stones

And then I went insane

Looking for a game

I found one called sanity

And it is just the same

For what had happened, what had been

What had been a weirdos sin

What had been just a mistake

And then I went to the lake

It’s true they say

That time heals all

But without interruption

Comes the fall

I know the fact that is the demon

The repercussion, of the split!

And should I choose this one more day

Matthew sits down to kneel and pray

That he will be without the change

He asks for every single day

Doubled back to see it true

Sometimes man, I believe in you

This morning I’ve been thinking. Of my deceased uncle. His drinking, smoking – how much I’ve missed him. The opportunities I had to game with him. And didn’t. I don’t want to be another deceased uncle, or singer, or maybe I will focus on my goals. I see a boat, think of my grandfather’s old boat, think of the good times. The childhood memories. The lies. The things I wasn’t sure were truths, and are. There’s regret. The rabbit hole I’ve continued to dig. Faster, efficiently. How do you catch a rabbit? How do you trap it? Is that the sign? The molten rabbit, the happy smiles, the things the forefathers did to keep us straight the motherly love. The fatherly instruction.

Perhaps it’s not bliss every second. If you remember, write it. So I am. If I think, hey, there’s a curse, a trauma, a sin – it manifests. Then later, it doubles back, my mind, to remind me I thought of it and it became reality. Harvesting that thought, the sew the weave, the pattern. Maybe the things I hear aren’t all true, the internet might not be for just negativity sometimes it’s positive but it gets refused. So the avoidance and the unseen become later reality. Where do you stop? Maybe there’s a day, but the time inbetween gives some hope, like this beautiful day, the perfect song, the nice weather, the humble churning waters and the change after you catch the break could be good enough, and the punishment for regret too great.

end the happiness of yesterday

i’m just a day away

and remorse and pain are through

but I do know it them true

there’s a heaven maybe hell

this I’ve always seen

it was when looked for

that it had purposefully been seen