Better Days

Beat around the facade
No one wants to know what’s at the rotten apples core
In a realm of hopeless verses
Twisted passions utter curses
As from the heart they pour

Scorched blood in fire veins lit by the flint, the wick of the wicked tongue
Burning alive on the inside, breathing dissipates from holes in a tattered lung

Suffocating whether in silence or voiced in honesty’s parade
Like a circus freak contorting in the acrobatics of the wordsmiths masquerade

Lips of honor yielded to the scripted will to speak of something true
Is the substance that’s beneath the surface authentic or just the way I’m faking virtue?

Self doubt and awarenesses of invisible things
How do I make believe till I’m convinced
When I scream my prayers as the sin sings
Desperate for a genuine sense of recompense

Interrogations on repeat
The same words spoken in a thousand ways
Is my expression overrated
When night feels deeper than the sun shines bright on my better days…