all of my fires start a little messy
one man sayin
fuck it
quiet enough
that it gives god permission
to pretend he didn’t hear it
lightin my world up
with bad decisions
and shakin hands
holdin a match
between my teeth
while gasoline drips from my lips
my name turns black
curlin at the edges
and everythin
I was tryin not to become
steps forward
lit from underneath
grinnin
behind my teeth








recently I wrote a poem because I was pretty pissed off about the vessels wrought for destruction made only to show God’s power and I complaine about it there after my life started spiraling and I asked him are you mad I complained? and which is worse knowing I feel that way and me not saying anything about it and being a punk or complaining about something I can’t control…that’s what your poem made me think of…instruments of destruction its likely not your fault ❤️❤️
Powerfully penned, 253. Another excellent write with lots of layers my friend. Nicely done as always. Appreciate you.
Damian