The sun bursts into flames
But the air conditioning shelters me from Pain, all I know is comfort
All I know is what it’s like to always have food on my plate
Placed in a Nacirema Dream, O’ what I’d do to escape
Cut loose and smoke massive amounts of hash and
Travel the planet… broke until my casket
I wish what I wrote mattered
My picture perfect platform ‘round here is so standard

*I’ve never had to face death… except
For Omi and my Aunt and trust me they have more than my respect
But the consensus is; without ‘real’ struggle… no purpose
Which means all of my tears, here, are basically worthless
Barred from bars, got a fear of making these verses
“There’s no ‘true’ passion, at least some of your peers were raised in churches”
‘round here it’s inhumane, it hurts. It’s
Not physical but it’s awkward, you always look away from a person

They never say ‘Hi’, they always looking forward
And they wonder why I stay high… always looking forward
Poetic Purpose: I might’ve found it
But these are suburban kid problems, not allowed to write about it

Angels smother my sight since all I do’s sin
Ungrateful ‘cause they gave me the Sun but I think it’s too dim

I think it’s way too dim…

*Sublimated lyrics

Angels cry lullabies
‘Now’ is bleak, now I sleep
still they sing, grow my wings
can’t feel my feet, touch the sky