Not once has anyone asked me how I was doing—all my life.
No one cared to ask me if I was even happy.
All they asked was, how’s school? Getting good grades?
Are you working now? Are you making a lot of money now?
You should do this... You should do that…No one in my life,
family, or friends wanted to know anything about me.
Other than if I was feeding the machine like they were.
Why is it that we work our bodies to make money?
Then, our bodies become ill, and we must pay for healing.
Why is it expected to waste our time away from the people we love,
then cry when they die, wishing we had spent more time?
Why is it that we think about the gift of death so much that we forget to live in the present?
Why do we have to be on our deathbed to have a deathbed confession?
We never really got to know our parents.
We never really got to know our friends.
We traded time for money.
On our high horse, we treat people so lowly.
Why do we pray to God when we’re at our life’s end?
But God is the last thing on our minds when we are livid!
Just imagine you dying alone and not being found.
No one around to claim your ashes; you spent all that time feeding the machine. You forgot about love and what life means.
Yeah, so what if I’m a failure? I’m a conscious soul. I understand my value. And I respect your time, but only a few people are like me.
That’s why I get high — to feel less lonely.
Because when I’m sober, I’m so over the bullshit, so over.
If you only love me when I’m sober, you make me feel
like one of my bitches; if I didn’t fuck, then I sold her.
And even if I’m a soldier, I can’t lie cause my soul hurts
I’m dehydrated spiritually; call it a charley horse; my soul jerks,
I’m morally injured, mask off, I’m breathing in all the sulfur
I just want money, pussy, and cocaine in that exact order.
Have you ever heard of a Christian who gets a home pass?
Because every time he’s at church, he tends to hump ass
No direction fucking sisters left and right with a broken compass.
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