"The month before"

    If hope floats, then I must of been on the ship that sank
     When I stop and think
     It becomes evident my dreams got tired of never befitting a reality so they ran away
     Like why bother?
     What's the point of looking forward to tomorrow after losing your father, yet gaining fake friends aswell as a leg monitor that beeps if I move any farther
     Can I get a better deal your Honor?
     Or am I not paying my lawyer enough?
     Either way the D.A. ain't taking me to trial, so the C.O. needs to send me back to my bunk and I'll chill for additional month
     Deliberating if prison poetry can promise better days, better ways, then perching alone in a motel room
     Burnt-out on dope whores in game rooms
     Sick, steadily confused, gazing at my arms consisting toward track marks and tattoos
     Talking to God. Living on a prayer hoping someday he'll turn around and tell me the right thing to do