Don't get it twisted just because my smile is nice
I signed up for the war not once but twice
When I went to Iraq I dodged death and it's stunts
but when I got home I smoked blunts and stayed drunk.
Now I can't sleep and I'm messed up in the head
I wake up having nightmares and I keep pissing the bed.
I talk in my sleep and I walk in my sleep
instead of counting the sheep I think of killing the sheep.
People tap me on the shoulder, I think I'm being attacked
So I a ball up my fist because I don't know how else to react.
I get really depressed, I never used to be this way
It's a struggle for a brotha to live day by day
Don't say you love me because you think you know me
if you got love for the troops then you better show me
I am 35 and I at least want to see 35
I don't want to be popping pills for the rest of my life.
I want to win in this game of survival
Will I live for the rose or will I die by the rifle?
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2 comments:
Ach, poetry.... As always, I hate the sin, love the sinner--or is it the other way 'round? I hate the idea of poetry, but on the other hand, I like the content here pretty darn well and maybe this is the only way to handle such strong content--keeping it in the very defined channels of rhyme and rhythm.
Thank you for suffering through my poetic fits. You really helped me to channel a lot of writing into smaller, easier to consume and digest literature.
You helped me to think.
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