i am a man
bumped jumped
dumped and born to hustle
left to watch the sun
rising and setting
with a gun
in a humble and quiet disarray

all these words
were placed so carefully
like bottles on a fence post
crafted to obscure meaning
targeted towards inverted intent
and then shattered
with questionable precision
game over no continues
hazy nights spent pacing racing
and talking to myself
forced it takes too long
there’s just too many chances
for red lights stray shots and slander
for random texts questions hangovers

short of breath
these thoughts are now
noticeably brief and disassembled
like a parking lot
with clumsy drivers
and irregular lines
every good story teller
can write the future
but fate and circumstance
is the stubborn editor
that turns it all upside down
but hey i’ve still got it right
yeah every morning
after the fog