The Coward in Me

I yield,
I sigh.
Exhaustion sleeps with me.
A temptress glides by,
Beautiful and stress-less.
She smells my envy with a watchful eye.

I feel sorry for any good Lord,
And all angels under its wings,
Yet nothing more.
The Sunday rolls in on a thundercloud,
An Easter morning of graceful veil and shroud.
There is nothing left for me to taste,
Nothing real and nothing fake.
Hard lessons learned, the polycephaly sprouting in my friends.
There is loneliness, and then there is pride.
There’s a time to do what’s right, and a time to lie.
Living may be perfect, such as a godless evolution,
But there’s only a breath in me, with a soft resolution.
This vanity is a peak, narcissism a timid siren.
So many temptations, so much salvation,
So much redemption…so many second chances.
I reside beneath the spiraled clique,
Full of broken hypocrites and intimate submissions.
Maybe indifference is my border,
Maybe it’s intolerance.
Maybe it’s just angst,
A chemical imbalance of testosterone and hormones.
I’ll waste my minutes with stitches over my eyes, toking with a stone,
While a pointless life tiptoes by, as if to whisper into my bones,
“Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, right now.”
That’s when I’ll curl up like a roach.
That’s when God will reach on down and pluck me out,
Spit in my face and throw me down to the wolves within me.
I must hold myself up, a cripple and a nomad,
Sobriety rattling my armor iron-clad.
I must survive myself, fuel myself,
Tame myself to be a rebellion, a cause, a second chance,
A tolerance, an angel, a saint, a good Lord.
I must tame myself to be.

Forte sunt, non tribuantur