In that house of new orleans,
they know their crimes
In a speakeasy, truck stop, or shoplifter's hands
bad business laughs at integrity
At the raves, clubs, and parties?
lust runs free.
And in myself, questioning kills me.
They say the truth hurts, its life, just get over it
get. over. it.
They know they're swimming in chocolate syrup,
or perhaps blood.
"I hurt others with good intentions.
Do soldiers go to hell for murder?
Survival of the fittest or compassion?
Heartlessness is logical, friends.
Can a newborn sin?
or the cliche: steal a loaf of bread to feed your starving family?"
I manage to slip into argumentative evils,
into the dark undefined.
He says light doesn't have grey areas. Just light and dark.
The devil is easier to sympathize with.
Now I'm nocturnal, a professional in this confusion.
If I were anger I would have risen from the ground,
anger is a gas.
If I were hopeful I would be in space, far from this hole,
dreams are infinite.
If I were guilty? Then I wouldnt know.
Because grey is fog
and the light knows not where it goes
the tunnel leads back to the soul
membranes and memories wish their way to silence
and everything is grey in these between times
nice addition. always welcome and appreciated.