He's chain to the bed with whiplashes from his past addictions.
Awake up my Son!
He wakeup with a puddle of sweat blinded from the reality.
So he walks to the restroom to try to wash away the permanent stances so he can make it through another day without facing his insanity.
Suddenly he looks into the mirror and the only reflection notice is his shadow enjoy what his heart desires.
He gets dress & grabs his keys to find hope.
He cruise and see the white castle down the road.
He sits in the last row with his ears open for wisdom to speak to his soul but only hears growling behind the MIC.
He glazed at the crowd numb like mummies staring at the man behind the pulpit; while the fur is hidden behind his bow tie.
As every eyes close to pray,
With no hesitation he leaves.
As the darkness cover the night sky; while the rain compliments the ground.
He takes out his keys but face with a forty five to his skull.
He notice behind the gun is his shadow enjoy what is heart desires.
He notice behind the gun is his own agony.
Before he can plead his case
He wakes up with a puddle of sweat
with a vision for the beauty of life but stranded in the delusion of his haunted tears. By Milton Styner Jr.