THIS NOT A TEST

I want the truth inside of my goddamn hand, but if it were gifted to me, I would not be becoming this myth, this man who decided to take the weight on his shoulders all alone. I have been told many times what has happened to me, and I'm some miracle that I should count blessings and thank the lord above. I tried to knock on those pearly gates, but he was not home, so I guess he didn't care.

Put the knife in my hand, and I will stab myself in the back. I was ask who do you trust? Who can you love without lust? I was told even as a young child, I was always tricky and wild. Questioning both reality and authority, and the answers were never found, for control is imprisonment, and reality was only being seen through the blind eyes of others.

This taste lingers on my tongue like a steel clove cigarette, making every memory harder to forget. I wake up in the middle of the night with cold sweats, whispering the words I will find out what they have hidden behind the rusted closed doors. I see the whores walk in, and out of like they were making confession on Sunday morning, but this is so no goddamn church. These are my dreams. At least, it seems.