I am sick of making excuses

and sifting threw heart break

to find a story or substance

I used to live dangerous

Now I am a mouse

in a house

that barely makes a peep

I am here to sleep

but find myself awake

with a spaghetti strainer

removing memories

sifting threw the rubbish

becoming perfect strangers

and the strange thing about it

It’s as if i was never there

like it was some bad movie

in an art house archetype

and the plight and plot

are forever lost

and the audience leaves

on stretchers

We are all bored to death

and born again sinners

who ask for forgiveness

but have none to give

the dichotomy of our duality

creates an endless paradox

rising from the ash of it

I ask you to call me phoenix

but I am a chicken

my wings don’t work

So eat me

maybe with some hot sauce

nothing is better bland

so put a bottle in your hand

and engulf me in your illusion

of fire

from this I will rise again

and asked to be called dung

thats where we are going

thats where we came from

if you dig the ditch

and mix me with

the soil my soul

longs to be

you will be reminded of me

in each breath

and every step

over this earth

which I have become

photosynthetic reincarnation