Broken

I'm on the other side of broken I hope  

Took a time out, to settle some scores.  
My fists are sore from knocking on old  
familiar doors. Now that I'm here I  
fear I might have lost who I was.  
A man on a mission no more,  
my ears no longer buzz...  
when I hear the word desire,  
last week I set fire to love.  
I feel retired, sipping tea in white gloves.  
I need a reason to be, maybe I'll  
just hire some thugs, have em rob  
the block dealer and tell him just who it was..  
who sent em, then I'll regain that  
burning essence in me. Ready for war,  
I dare anyone to mess with me.  
My rage bubbles, at times it's been  
a blessing to me. It's also gotten me in  
trouble, right now it's the quiet time that's testing me.  
 
Rigamortis setting in, no missions  
or ambitions. I'm not prepared to pack it in  
but lately I've been listless.  
I don't dare to write a wish list, my wallets  
looking thin and my body's long avoided fitness.  
I'm bound to start some fights I can't finish  
just to have something to write about,  
or crack open a can of Guinness. I've often found  
inspiration from spouts.  
I said I would never drink again.  
Last night I was tempted, as I sat alone stumped with a pen.  
I had 1.65 in change and 30 cents  
more in empties, I'd find 2 or 3 on the way,  
lord please stop tempting. It's closed today  
for the holiday, tomorrow I can only hope  
I'm not so hollow and empty.  
I want to write great things, I want to do better.  
Lately I just break things and scribble out suicide letters.  
I've come so close, I've got so far.  
I've been so low, like I am as I write these bars.  
 
The other side of broken  
 
When does it start, I go bad places when  
I follow my heart. My brain barely works,  
my car won't start. My hands too broken to get  
a job, bills and debts have me falling apart  
at the seams... I'm haunted by dreams, plus  
I'm all out of energy to formulate schemes.  
Sometimes I'm pretty sure that I'd deserve it,  
that's as bleak as it seems. I thought these  
words might help, they've got me in the mirror  
looking at myself and I can't help but stare  
down at my belt, trippin.  
Yours truly, lost truly. Smiles and laughs  
I try to catch pass through me, in a city that speaks.  
Graffiti and bums with paper bags, smoking  
papers that reek of innocence, yet demons  
in the smoke have me crossing the street.  
Too damn weak, for years I numbed it all  
and now it's too damn bleak. I'm falling,  
through holes in clouds, through droning crowds,  
today my goal was to speak and I have spoken.  
 
I'm still broken..
still broken.