The Little Poet That Never Could
Memories and worries keep knocking on my head
Just keep knocking nobody’s home
There’s no one left
It’s too late
I’m already dead
I don’t care if you put a pocket full of lead
Inside of my skull
I know
Some things on this earth shouldn’t have come
Like me
But God served me a sentence that’s already begun
And the spider’s web has already been spun
Around my wrist
It’s too late to come undone
And I’m just sitting here
Thinking what the fuck have I become
Emptiness and tiredness
Slowly to progress
Maybe I’m too provocative
Or maybe I’m too talkative
And maybe that’s irrelevant
When it comes to the simple plan
I just need to vent
But I can’t
Because I have nothing left
Nobody’s home
And I just keep knocking on my head
I’ve been a lot of different things but I have no wish for death
I just keep knocking
Standing on the steps
Hoping someday someone will open the door
And be happy to let me in
I’m hopeful
But not nearly convinced
I’m still knocking on the door
Fucking pavement from within
I never wanted to lose it
But I guess you choose it
When life opens up a gap
And you step back and you abuse it
I’ve used it
Many different things
But out of all those things one is still the same
Maybe I should just move on there’s nothing left but my shame
I keep knocking on the doors to the house of blame
Hoping someday someone will let me in
And finally give me a permanent stay
And put me in my place
By knocking me on the head and throwing my rotted corpse away
I keep knocking on wood
Knowing that I’ll always be
The little poet that never could
(2014)
