Devils creep into my idols burning an effigy of protected heroes. Mighty flames feed machines of love and hate, sick boys and broken dolls suspended online. Newsfeeds smoke like campfires just outside the circled wagons while the thirsty ones wait with baited breath for the next scandal to fuel their anger and ferocious hunger to speak out into the void known as social media.
Truth be told, these words, these fucking useless syllables strung together with a choppy grammar and grace. I’m nothing to bring forth a revolution or a change that matters, just a wreckless aging bastard limping into my forties with little left in the tank. My politics are a smoldering campfire that once raged red hot passionately but now, it’s just a b-side on an obscure seven inch. My songs are jumbled bullshit licked shut envelope hidden.
Religion failed, god was never enough and no politician has a hand I would hold, not even to help me up. The blighted heart of my rib caged ghetto beats less like a punk rock drummer and more so a brush back Americana sublet beat. Gently scratching my snare drum that once was a colossal kick drum thunder thud.
Beyond my loathing blather there still is a glimmer of annoying hope, a sparkle in a moonless dark ponds reflection. Cold water me, deeper and darker now. The lower lights of heaven no longer burn in any way, extinguished when my logical mind exhausted my spiritual heart, thigh the compromise is a soul that embraces mystery like a mother to a child.
I hold it close and create new things no one cares about because, fuck it, life is not guaranteed and death is coming. Heaven or afterlife or hell or whatever you think awaits us, if anything, who has a clue? I don’t! So I’ll keep contradicting, being a hypocritical shithead and striving to be kind as much as my damaged heart will can allow.