donate to ya boy

Monday, July 13, 2015

convince me that Im not dead yet

tell me in portraits scribbled on manuscripts

paint it with your laranyx

as you scream out what couldnt entrench

I'am a vision

one you havent hammered out yet

begot by the feelings of tremors & retrospects

a broken heart so filled with contempt

you'll find me hanging by a picture above your bed

you can dream of me as that man or whatever Ive been lead too

as for now this heart is dead too

I just need to be fed...drink some coffee too

who knows?

I could be in brooklyn by afternoon

but that would only provide proof

that exactly whom we are we were destined to behoove

in my eyes I see the sweltering heat

the heart which beats

and the chariot whom leads...

not a damn truth follows me...I am a product of what I conceive

your heart is a cathedral

mine is a fort

youre so willing,honest & open

I'am nothing but walls & courts

judge me lest he be judged

awake in the frozen food aisle

the only thing I could convey

was trust.

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