If tonight be my last,
you can say I succumbed to my hunger.
It was the state of my greed.
Lazy, drooling, too focused on the tiny sort.
Lazy, drooling, too focused on the tiny source of light.
To see the thing we all talk about swallow us both.
Me and the thing I fashioned into my escape.
Why would any self-respecting slave
grease his lips with freedom,
Salted and fatty, all for his self?
If I get caught, bulleted to a footnote,
They spotted me before I seen them.
My ladder ain't reach,
Rung just a few shy of sunrise.
The horizon, a mirror to my EKG spike
My torso clears another gate.
Jump, razor wire cut my tricep, a new smile,
Short breath, 32 stitch lift in that cold room.
Flatline on the record.
No mention of how I learned a gun can make you a man's God.
Women, too.
Some get off on exotic suffering, anything foreign
They are easy to rob.
I don't feel guilty lacing my mattress with their blood money.