Nothing Fits

by Maher   Aug 27, 2020

Air is heavy when you're sober,
a weighted nothing breaks your pride.
It smells of guns and open fire
and I fail to look up at the sky.
Every cannon held by anchors,
most every wave, a wave goodbye.
So call me forth from Spring to Summer,
for in the Fall we're sure to die.

Naked cloth and screens of glory;
shower me with secrets designed.
Subscribe to narrow-minded envy:
if you're happy, then it's all fine.
Embrace the cults that shill you plenty
and eat the tongues of those behind.
So bathe in want and think of no-one
and love the needles in your side.

Across the planes of Diazepam,
Preachers fear with nothing to hide.
The blood of children fill the cauldrons
of a happy worldwide suicide.
Dear God, she loves me like a virus;
put my faith and liberties aside.
So applause for fame and burn the angels,
lest some dust get in your eye.


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