Us and The 4th

Us and The 4th

Hand him a no. 2 pencil, give him a minute, the transformation’s suspenseful, a slight commotion then he’s half-man, half-creature,

With 1 foot in the greenest of meadows, other foot in the meanest of ghettos, it’s only veracious if the spiritual being has an ill-lighted feature,

Forgive him if he goes from obscure to luminous, the canvas made for his brush strokes may include sun-rays and gruesomeness,

Simply to inform those that are new to this, that the newcomer should get used to this, and discard black thought and foolishness,

As a six year old catching lightening bugs, cupped hands open back up, out comes a black bat, now hes 23 with Mom’s macbook in his backpack headed to make an exchange,

The chemical imbalance makes him deranged, he used the coca leaves as a makeshift brain, ramming his head against the wall of the same vacancies makes him insane,

And they say it’s everything we must change, on the 4th please believe we weren’t made to make due with this pain, 

A spirit of malnutrition is in need of proper nourishment, one can lead you to the meadow, yet it’s on you to smell the wildflower that’s when the half-man flourishes,

We mustn’t use balloon send-offs, candle vigils, and glum reminiscent round tables as our downfall, we must use them as encouragement,

This is for the goth kid with double-zero gauges dropping sheets of acid and using his sister’s nail polishes,

This is for the egghead with orange beads running from her nose who doesn’t know she already nailed her academic scholarship,

This is for the 40-something with meth mouth, he can’t picture a new set of pearly whites, he just needs to find the meadow,

This is for the clammy handed 20-something with the dirty sprite bottle who blames it on the back alleys and trap beats in the ghetto,

This is for the parents of the lost child who are out of answers, God bless them, they try to redirect and nudge us,

This is for the 30-something couple honking their horns at our white vans, they don’t understand us so they judge us,

We didn’t survive D-Day to get stuck and remain stagnant among our sober homes and halfways, day-dreaming over Newport’s if the fat lady will ever sing,

Take a minute and smell the wildflower, it’s just us and the 4th dimension, let us make it one of those forever things.

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