Sometimes wish that I could turn off the sh*t flyin' 'round in my head.
It picks at my peace like merciless vultures.
Memories not mine but I own it.
They yellin' all up in my face I'm tryin' to hide instead.
It's all blood and tears and screams and torches...
Time Scars invisible yet horrifically lit.
How to address the living and still honor the dead...
Midst our own violent refusals
live their co-opted cultures...
the blatant denials, the obvious conflict.
Levels and layers of desperation and dread..
Confusion in perception of pasts and futures...
and no present where it can realistically fit.
Drinking smoking medicating then bed...
Staring at blue light reflecting off ceiling fixtures...
Illumination of just how much I can't resolve it.
Still this side of the dirt is better someone said.
Even if there's blood spilled in the mixture.
Neither living or humanity is promised or guaranteed... whether we choose to disagree or choose to accept it.