Broken Canvas

The ink from my suicide note dry slow

So I drink and drive let the liquor line my throat

I’ll be fine

just let me ride

At my best I am God manifest

At my worst I deserve a rebirth so I’m starting over

Back on my nova back in the sky asking my guides for a path to enter

Astral projecting right through the fire past the dimension of masters and peasants past the heavens right to my ancestors dwellings

Blessings

But I got mad questions

Like why me? Why this burden of truth?

It sounds superfluous but this purpose for someone so unworthy is cruel

I feel like a fluke I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing

You gave me the tools that’s true but I’m way too fearful to move.

I’m a wounded prophet I drink too often

I’m insecure and overly cautious

I cry and lot and I’m lost and exhausted

I’m harmful towards myself how am I meant to help another heal?

Dropped to my knees then heard my great grandmother speak