Only, for feeling low was always before combined for a lonely combo
but I'll reap what I sow and re-rip the holes just so I can learn to sew
for I could never see the wood for the trees or green pastures for the crows
so I try to fertilize barren land and irrigate holding a water hose
and wonder why I'm constantly up shits creek without a paddle just giving blood to the mosquitos
so I stay stagnant with the flow and with the hope that the grass will grow
but I can't help but stay ready with the hoe for I know only the weeds will show.
A safe space was never designed, so who could I also assign
so I have to study up on the signs, so I never fall back beyond the line of what confines
for I've redefined the sweet taste of wine to but fruitless vines of tendrils that climb
into a soul that died of no life, just spending time giving CPR to the divine
a fools errand waiting for wounds to dry from trying to hold onto porcupines
that pierce deep inside, so I stay with the rhymes of a wish that goes beyond mine
but all I can see is the eventual decline of anything that has the potential to reach sublime.