Day: Aug 29, 2020

Wish I could encapsulate you standing there in your Rolling Stones t-shirt.

When I look at you in dim mornings, I’m glad I never became a preacher.

But you’re still sacred, even though god and I – we’re done with discussions.

It’s a warzone driven by blackmail and terror because I dared to ask questions.

Wish there was a way to absorb you with my skin, wish touch wasn’t the limit.

There’s no surprise that the way you shine is mistaken for a cheap gimmick.

But you’re still worthy, even if banks have banned my face for the third time.

I walk the road covered in bankruptcies and negotiations of whether you’re a crime.

Wish someone could cure you of the spell that’s making you act this brave.

Whenever the rest is giving up, you come up with ways to nurture and save.

But you’re still dirty, covered in untreated calluses from yesterday’s wonders.

It’s a path designed by the rich or the lunatics to survive through your thunders,

But I’ll pull through. We’ll cross out the days and forget the numbers.