I wear sunglasses at all hours because the world is too bright for my eyes
And lately I can’t look into the mirror without wearing a disguise
I’ve been the skewer of flesh dipped into the fondue of this world
And I’ve broiled my insides just to make her toes curl

I’ve seen my best of friends
Who represent the depths of men
Make the same mistakes again
And now I’m one of them
The gavel’s cracking in my mind
It is a sin but is it a crime
To embrace a woman who isn’t mine
And sew the seeds of my heart’s demise

What are we mortal men to do?
When right and wrong are so vastly skewed?
For if a clear conscience was a plate of food
I would fight the world for the table scraps of you
I don’t know when to say enough’s enough
Since my half empty cup has been filling up
I lack the blood but still feel the cuts
I wade through good women and tread water in sluts
I’m the body pillow for cigarette butts
I’m the filth water that septic systems pump
I’m the waste displayed and shaped are garbage dumps
I’m the wounds I use to make your goosebumps

I sheath the weapons of my morality
And let these villainous thoughts hack away at me
I’m the sacrifice of my own indulgence
Karma’s coming to get me at any moment
I don’t write stories I let my soul disclose it
The drama of a manic depressive poet
I feel I often have no one to confide in
For 12 years my imaginary friend’s been hidin
With cement shoes I beg the moon to pull the tide in
God no longer has to answer since I’ve stopped dialin

I walk among the forest and confess my sins to the trees
My voice excretes the scenes of my deceit to enrich the soil below my feet
Man hours of manure maneuver to fertilize the stems of flowers for worker bees
I vomit the bile of my indiscretion to these pagan gods and I await their lessons
These wooden respirating systems calm my guild ridden symptoms
They inhale my dioxin and self-mutilate themselves into wooden boxes
I lay among and ponder at my morale losses 
since following my heart has been my only option
The devil on my right shoulder has been guiding me more often
While the angel naps against my throat holding a cardboard sign of ‘Caution’
The lord in his divinity deleted my name from his caller ID
Because I’ve stopped asking for forgiveness for my decisions
So now the trees are my priests
And I know they can hear me…
But are they really listening…?
And would it even make a difference…