Sometimes I look in the mirror
And ask myself: Am I really scared of passing away?
If I died, what would everyone else say?
At night will they go to bed unconcerned?
Or mad sad at the demise of their friend?
The same one they never gave a hoot about?
Nah I think the fuck not.
Anyways, if it’s today, I hope I hear a
cry out from Heaven so loud it can water down a demon
With the Holy Ghost ’til it drown in the blood of Jesus
And another one from the pits of hell,
So loud that it could shake the foundations of the earth.
I wrote some poems that made sure that my lifeline reekin’
The scent of a reaper,
The scent of death
Ensuring that my allegiance
With the other side may come soon
And if I’m doomed
May the womb of my mother be blessed for many moons
I suffer a lot
And every day that glass mirror get tougher to watch
I tie my stomach in knots
As I gather the broken pieces of my too fragile heart from the ground.
I get cut by some of the pieces,
I lay back, wondering
Shouldn’t I be used to the pain by now?
And I’m not sure why I’m infatuated with death
My imagination is surely an aggravation of threats
That can come about
’Cause the tongue is mighty powerful
Maybe it’s ’cause I’m a dreamer and sleep is the cousin of death
But before I go
I hope that at least one of you
Sings about me when I’m gone.