As my bones grow brittle and the bottles of wine continue collecting in the cracks and lines of my face and my skin and the spaces within, growing white with scars of countless sins. I'll remember the reason, the regretful times. I'll fight for the anger, the chords and the rhymes that clench up my fist and make my heart a soft black. Bring a light to my eyes that I normally lack. I still dream of cocktails and oily rags, and the burning of cop cars and systems and flags.
The history repeats the same themes of defeat. We keep penning the words we continue to eat. Our failures rain down, a mix of hate, fear and sleet. We can't slow down, can't lessen the speed. I'm too scared to die young, too scared to live fast, but I'll hold contradictions I made in the past. I'll cut idols down and hold others high, keep these words in my heart until the day that I die. "I was early to finish, I was late to start, I might be an adult, I'm a minor at heart."