BreakCanon
07-26-07, 03:03 PM
Righteous anger born of attempted penance,
Suicide prevention and asylum detentions,
Detente won’t do in this state of mind I retain,
Worms burrowing their way deep inside my brain,
Every piece of knowledge a is needle in the tapestry,
Building towards actualization, but the needle is trying to stab me,
Dampening my whims at the push of a button,
One tap on the buzzer brings out the rage infused buzzards,
These vultures pick at my flesh, gluttonous scavengers,
I can hear their calls, banter circling above my home,
Yes, there is work to be done, but I’d rather not deliver,
To any ungrateful villagers who would dump me in the river,
So I hold on to a sliver of ragged beaten hope,
Rolled tight in a dollar bill like a joint full of dope,
Yet the money is quickly fading until little remains,
So I spend it freely like every day is a rainy day.
From the womb to the nut-house and back to education,
Where learning is just another way to vent the frustrations,
Of living in a land where hopes are quickly decimated,
Before the sun begins to rise over any persons plate,
Half my glass is poisoned and the other half is empty,
The refrigerator is sullen and the rot spreads to the pantry,
Paltry bits of crumbs fall onto my broken plate,
And I refuse to thank anyone for delivering the cake,
I want to eat bread with the rest of the aristocracy,
But my title was stripped the day I became a mockery,
And in the scope of an hour my attitude suddenly soured,
I realized at that moment that is was power I lacked,
And fate kept me in thrall, packed and shackled in a cell.
Regular as clockwork now, I wake up in cold sweat,
The bullets inspire me to write the woes in cement,
I seek permanence now, memories will hardly suffice,
But success is as random as shooting a game of dice.
Suicide prevention and asylum detentions,
Detente won’t do in this state of mind I retain,
Worms burrowing their way deep inside my brain,
Every piece of knowledge a is needle in the tapestry,
Building towards actualization, but the needle is trying to stab me,
Dampening my whims at the push of a button,
One tap on the buzzer brings out the rage infused buzzards,
These vultures pick at my flesh, gluttonous scavengers,
I can hear their calls, banter circling above my home,
Yes, there is work to be done, but I’d rather not deliver,
To any ungrateful villagers who would dump me in the river,
So I hold on to a sliver of ragged beaten hope,
Rolled tight in a dollar bill like a joint full of dope,
Yet the money is quickly fading until little remains,
So I spend it freely like every day is a rainy day.
From the womb to the nut-house and back to education,
Where learning is just another way to vent the frustrations,
Of living in a land where hopes are quickly decimated,
Before the sun begins to rise over any persons plate,
Half my glass is poisoned and the other half is empty,
The refrigerator is sullen and the rot spreads to the pantry,
Paltry bits of crumbs fall onto my broken plate,
And I refuse to thank anyone for delivering the cake,
I want to eat bread with the rest of the aristocracy,
But my title was stripped the day I became a mockery,
And in the scope of an hour my attitude suddenly soured,
I realized at that moment that is was power I lacked,
And fate kept me in thrall, packed and shackled in a cell.
Regular as clockwork now, I wake up in cold sweat,
The bullets inspire me to write the woes in cement,
I seek permanence now, memories will hardly suffice,
But success is as random as shooting a game of dice.