Banking On My Truth

You get to a point where you don’t care about anything accept,
For your own accountability.
No desire to point fingers towards who has conspired against you.
No more rounds of whiskey heaved into your mouth over the dark clouds within you…

Man,
All I care about is flowing a poem withholding a message of all that I’ve known in a life shown to be cold if,
You forget how you’re a son before claiming anything else you know is,
Blasphemous to your own peace of mind…

When you close your eyes,
Can you see your inner child for a moment?
Right before the image splits,
Like you did!
When they asked to be noticed?
That!
Is what I rather mend every time I wake in a home incinerated by the need to get smoked in,
Any way,
Shape or form…

How can that torn relationship with yourself intertwine back together,
By sweating whoever caused you pain?
I wouldn’t know!
But,
Seen many try!
And,
Most are now stuck in a grave,
While those who bank on themselves are going home smiling and paid,
Looking fresh in all kinds of ways,
A family on one side of their person cheering them on,
While they dream away…

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