1. |
Lessons
03:30
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Murky become the seas
Between shores of thought and speech
With the turning of tides.
Those eyes, white and stone
Two north stars mark my way home
As they have so many nights before.
Beneath this epitaph
I dwell on prophetic paths
Could they have ever known?
Questions regarding fate
Stir better in sober states
And severed from my own.
And I think Oh, there must be something more than this.
Lessons that I have learned
Once denounced shall re-emerge
With the passing of time.
But all that comes to pass
Ends in dirt of behind glass
At the tail end of life.
And I cry Oh, there must be something more than this.
Oh, please God Oh, there must be something more than this.
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2. |
Birthmarks
03:57
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Birthmarks in these swollen rooms begin to bruise
Hazy grey like mother’s cigarette fumes.
Breathing phantom air.
Breathing phantom air.
The scar on the bannister where I sat and drew on the wall.
Awake for hours as the radio crooned
Like a child alone in the master bedroom.
Inherit this cave.
This flaking sweating cave.
Pulling holes in all its dreadful potential.
Moth-like
Tracing footprints.
Until my turn to kiss goodnight and stoke the feet of kin
Dreaming they will be raised right.
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