kespify
Too many times our paths have crossed.
Too many times you have ripped open my chest just to play my ribs like an out of tune piano.
I'm calling your number again. I'm calling to say hello. I'm calling your number again. Not even your voice mail will say hello.
like the tracks of the metro spilled across the crumbled map, my veins intersect. Crossing and Turning. So much confusion I have lost my track. I keep starring at your path. I keep memorizing your route.I keep starring at your metro card you left in my wallet.
I keep calling you to tell you I have it. I keep calling you to tell you hello.
I keep calling you to tell you I keep your metro card in my wallet. I keep your path in my veins.
I keep calling you to tell you you can still my play my ribs like an out of tune piano.
I keep calling hoping our paths will cross again.
There was a time in my life when I was too poor to produce much of anything.
If a friend gave me flowers they were dead within the week.
If a lover gave me love I massacred it within the night.
My soil was a waste land where only the rotting carcasses of past lives gathered to be remembered- before God condemned them to purgatory.
My productivity only lasted as long as the coke on my mirror and that never lasted longer than 20 minutes.
My wild ideas and antics were so creative until the bottle became less and less full.
My soul was too poor to even produce an answer from God when my cuts were the loudest my voice could travel.
Even God knows when to cast out the barren woman who has lost all fertility of life.
From Dreaming to Drinking to Dropping on my knees in a dirty jail cell time and time again-
My story is the story of thousands before me, the thousands that will follow, and the millions of tears my soul had to shed to finally give life to this soil.