Vessel Of Troubled Thoughts

The method of my madness

Is the confidence in blackness

In a meadow of white flowers

Some roses, some saps

In a forest of unintelligible raps

Small, handcrafted lines don’t stand a chance

And they never gave me one, no endorsement

But with patience and practice I absorbed it

Now wherever I go I pen the deepest passion

Without inspiration, just routine, no rations

Of any emotion I might be feeling at the time

Be it anger, be it guilt, be it sadness

That often warms as a thick quilt

Draped over a sick child in fits of agony

Don’t look at my misery, don’t behold

The catastrophe

But you can’t help but read, I can’t help but write

The tasers, headlamps, and body cams

The prisoners, the sentencers, the tweeters

They don’t scare me

Not nearly as much as I scare myself

Digging up these solemn regrets

And showing them off to the world

As if I were a vessel of troubled thoughts

With nothing left to give