Hypnotized by memories,
that even the present cant fix,
it makes tomorrow seem nonexistent,
and it makes time do tricks.
the things my mind makes me do,
makes even the silly seem quaint,
they look to the ground, the curves upside down,
and from sheer exhaustion they faint.
and as i pass them on the street,
looking lazy and hurt,
i keep walking, never talking,
just one more to count in the dirt.
fifteen Ive passed and fifteen Ive lost,
but words don't escape from my chest,
and it seems to me that this will be,
the last poem that comes from my breast.
word on the street, last i heard,
was that Lucifer was cast upon me,
well, if family's the devil and friends are all rebels,
yes, then, i would agree.
but now, is it necessary to fill all your heads,
with my grievances and all my views?
or would it be better to just write this letter,
and blame it all on you?
confusion sets in as I hit the ground,
not knowing how or why,
until he laughs, and as i gasp,
and angel just flew by.
