Monday, March 9, 2015

His Confession

Time ran away from me while chasing wants
I thought were necessities
obsessions with pussy money and weed bled on the floor
of the confessional this was the first time
he didn't mind asking for help

the art of compromise
but before hand bad habits
from the nuisance of itchy palms
lead to the scattering of regrets
and he continued

the mother's baby I took her for granted
and I lost the only thing I ever wanted
in the beginning and in the beginning
the writing was on the walls but
it's like I stabbed myself in the eyes with the pens
so I was blind to the fact that I had it all

he said
She was the virgin mary
and I was judas on my life
ready to betray god if
this bitch decide to have my baby


she said
how'd it turn to this
how'd it turn into this
the whites of your eyes turned
into dark lies and what's to hide
in a home when the glass is tinted
and your soul is cut from the world?

He said being an artist is too big a responsibility
for some art is the only thing worth believing in
that means someone out there believes in me
the way one might believe in god
and I can't take the pressures of believing
in myself because that would make me my own god
so I'll stay in disbelief
like america being the richest country
yet we got millions with nothing to eat
just food for the soul when it's dark and lonely on this road
they call the life of an artist

usually plagued by a dead end and suicidal thoughts begin
to take over when those world wide sales were dismal
and international success didn't take over

that's why my sweetest dreams are my nightmares
and it's so hard to focus when you're not there
and I lose it wondering if my muse will ever
end up face down on the pavement before I do

the importance of preeminence
can be fatal if you're not passionate
and it feeds off you

©2015 Anthony Desmond Scott. All Rights Reserved.
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