Local Artist


What do you do when the alcohol doesn’t numb the pain
And you swear up and down your seconds always from going insane
Daydreaming about a better life in the pouring rain
What you wouldn’t do for some lottery numbers and some fame
Church people will say all the stuff is vain
But what else are you supposed to wish for when no one knows your name
The sad life of another tortured soul called artists
You might not have a job but you still your hardest
Constantly pouring your heart out for your little website
Post after post of greatness and enlightened sight
But the followers don’t get it and no one else follows
So write a book just collect more disappointment and no’s
No one buys and no one reads
They don’t understand that even a genius has needs
Basic things like gas and phone bill money
And don’t forget the insurance for your little hooptie
Don’t even mention rent, water, and lights
But you have a dream so you keep at all night
Trying to decide if you should kill yourself or wait for the day everything’s alright


Nickels and Dimes


I really don’t wanna pull the race card
Put the times are getting too hard
Reading all these thank you for applying emails
And they wonder we resort to crime and jails
I mean what do you when your rent is due
And the white man isn’t trying to hire you
What do you when realize racism is true
And your brother tells you none of this is new
Like how hard do they wanna us try
Or better yet how bad do they want us to die
I feel like it’s just a matter of time before a cop pulls my card
A couple of shots to the chest and another mother left scarred
But I guess then I’d finally be at peace
Free from this life and body we actually only lease

A Way Out


Saying desperate prayers hoping He’ll spare the rod
Nowadays it’s strictly business and God
I’m talking a good ole day job
Because my life is just something else to rob
But I’m grateful to be here, don’t get me wrong
Who doesn’t wanna be owned for twenty and then say so long
That might work for you but never for me
I gotta do something, get famous, start my own company
Anything to make me feel like I was made for a purpose
I’m tired of drunk texts and poems about feeling worthless

“How are you” and “That’s not true”


Reporting live from the city of rock bottom
The place where problems add up without the answers to solve them
The heat in my hand burning like my sins and passion
My passion to be great despite my suicidal distraction
Debating over razors, registered guns and pills
Anything that’ll take me out without having to feel
Just another victim of depression enter the suicidal obsession
Chardonnay and Moscato are you’re only chance of confession
Mentally ill so offing myself is just playing it safe
It’s that or fantasies about the day I can actually afford a safe
I’m talking about Hollywood and Beverly Hills
I’m talking about a place where nothing is real
The perfect place for someone who lives in dreams
If only I could avoid what the bad ones mean

“It’s too late for me”


I don’t wanna feel better, I don’t want your advice
I don’t wanna sugarcoat it, I don’t wanna be nice
I wanna be ripped to shreds, I don’t care anymore
I want everyone to see all the signs you ignore
I wanna be free from you and them
I wanna cut off the lights on all my problems
I don’t wanna call for help, I don’t wanna love myself
I don’t want you to worry about me, worry about yourself
It’s not like I mattered before
It’s not like I can even talk to you anymore
I know my options and yeah I’m sure
I’m sure I want you to find me dead on the floor
I don’t need a hotline, I don’t want your pity
I just want anything that’ll help me escape reality