I bob and ebb in the ink of these stories that I bled to reality
Being drowned by every word and stanza I’ve let fester out of me
My face squeezes out of the black ocean, gaze turned to a red sky
Peering past the decaying clouds, straight into God’s dead eyes
I awoke in a sweat and a panic, peel my face from the desk in my annex
What does the imagery all mean?! I copy it to paper from my head ‘fore it vanished
I stare at the threads I’ve connected, find a place for the painting
Trying to piece together a whole though it’s straight complicating
Through the shadowy corridors I pace, until my legs are defeated
When that don’t work I get down and pray, I try and beg for a meanin’
I’ve shunned my wife and my kid, they probably can’t tell I’m sorry
I spend my waking moments glued to the screen, in a lime-tinted melancholy
Won a thousand topical titles! But then why can’t I let it be?
I’m the best there will ever be! Spent the last decade cementin my legacy
The king of the textcees, no one’s more deservin’ of that!
If you could hang all my internet plaques in this chat room, the servers would crash
You really think this all ain’t worth it? That they’d try and ditch my story?
Not likely my verses will forever be in the Scriptures - at least Richard Corey’s
But still I as a chief wordsmith, am unable to decipher these dreams
Full of this mindlessness, death, stress, lightning and screams
Day after day I waste away, you see the shape that I’m in?
I tap tap the keys with calloused fingers, I wear my age on my skin
Suffocate in these man poems, until I’m purple in the face
The words whirlwind “what’s my purpose? Is this worthless? Is this FAKE!?”
I’ve poured my heart and soul into this, now’s not the time to lose faith
I’ve missed birthdays, I’ve missed funerals just to get bars in by the due date
Another night another nightmare, hastily I escape from sleep
I quickly sketch the vision I’d seen, post it up on the wall n then place the strings
It all finally makes sense, this scene that has just came to me
I’m staring at the painting tentatively- a grandfather clock whose pendulum’s digging a grave for me
I blink and it’s gone! I’m bedridden at 83
This started out as a hobby just killin time, till time turned her blade on me