a return to that place
is failure stamped on my face?why do I burn God's grace?is it my secret sin? it's folding my legs in the racea deadlock pinI awake and feel I ain't worthy to roam in societyat a constant wrestle with anxietyno work, my outcry, my ventilationtired of just getting bya standing ovation from hell's pitsI stand in a midst of clouds with balded fistshow much more is his time allowed?my life moves around and aroundfeel forever embeded to the groundit's like i'm sliding with prosthetics to the moundor is just that i'm pathetic in blame stagesdo I give him extreme credit in my trifling phasesfrustrated over constipated wagesmoney forever moving slowi can choose to make it illegal and keep it steady like a diahrettic flowI