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The price of gas

keeps rising

though it has nothing to do

with the lack of fuel

for my

fire.

I must be crazy

insanity

my plea

as I beg for leniency

in this prison

I wear as a

feather in my

cap.

I spill truth's

that somewhere

I believe

or

they wouldn't

drip so damn easy,

would they?

I pound the keys

"writing is a release"

"good for the soul"

"mends memories"

But what the

fuck

does it release?

Dried tears covered

in mud

because it never

stops raining

inside the home

where you store

a lifetime of regrets

and current events of

signature failures?

They say

"death takes its toll"

But what the

fuck

do they think

life does?

Breads on sale

down at the local

grocery chain

ten loaves for

ten dollars,

better ride your bike

though

price of fuel will leave

nothing to put in-

between

the slices of life

I use to

believe in...