Sunday, December 4, 2011. What is a good death if not a safe bridge? Wading righteous rivers of war,. In waters too red to look at,. What is a good bridge if not a safe heart? Wishing for truth, icing the blood,. Hoping for gold, drowning in the flood,. Reserved to not hear anymore. Who told us to weep for ourselves? Who gave up the game? Who built these bridges. To keep us sure? Of the pain,. Now too weak to endure. Our cars, his cans.

This is how I see it. Another day passing, my wealth not amassing. Time slipping away, not much to say. My life is going by, passing mid-way. What have I done, what have I won. Grinding out the days, not having much fun. No record deal, no sports contract. I just sit in my office, without much contact. Every day I want to stab myself with a knife. Not a leader, a star, or a hero.

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