By Jr Pieces
I am half a drink late, two bottles down on a Sunday,
God shall forgive me, he understands this plan of deeming down my demons.
If anything, my prayers are in tongues thanks to the spirit of the bottle,
The pain He is healing right? One more drink, one toast for that.
I am still a man, honest for always crying with the rain and shower.
In front of others, is a clay face like none knows underneath,
Those of the greatest smiles have the longest of nights,
Pilling it down for some, but mine it’s the drinks that help me survive.
I pin fist on anyone who makes me feel small, cause that’s how men work
I demean girls who love me, for that’s what men want,
My parents see an angel in their son, their standards and wants achieved
Never myself around anyone, unless the four walls ask to hear of my days.
I laugh and flirt with knives and ropes, but crave for a silent escape,
A couple of times the life of a rat’s suicide game, but scared of trying it out.
So in fear I choose to live, day in day out a skeleton of a man
Drowning in pain, being the man, a visage of what the society requires.
I might not make it tomorrow, who knows how long I’ll live.
Curious of the eulogy, would they capture thoughts like these?
Of a man a stranger to himself, beloved by everyone else,
He died pleasing everyone, but never knew himself.
The liquor is finished, no more bottles for the Sunday
Monday calls another drink for the monsters in my head, obviously after a long fake day,
I’ll prolly need a drink, sleep afterwards if not being dead,
Being a man is hard, this mental is tough to keep at peace on most days.
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