The Bats Have Left the Belfry

Some people have baggage
as for me i guess i have back problems from me well just being me
it could be the manual labor but i chalk it up to 16 tons of other things i carry along with
my boots that have more stories than most people can even picture inside of a shitty storybook
i carry the names of good men who speak my name as a 5 o’clock fighter
neighborhood legend
ghetto defendant
in a community of cops,firemen,crooks,junkies all usually with the same last name
cross to bear as blessings as i curse my own self
my debts are to the good men who came before me on this sphere who fought the good fight long before i was even a bloodshot glimmer in my daddys’ eyes
i carry the praises of men who took chances on a dumb kid in boots who still call me kid and swear by my methods in madness when my madness is my methods
controlling the chaos inside and out
names weigh just as much as a wound that does not heal over time smashing the mirror to out score the expectations of our own staring reflections
the constant open breeze on the bloody road gash
the dripping rain drop hitting the same area of rock will eventually wear a hole into the center
everyday is a walk to cavalry of sorts
carrying a cross or poorly packed luggage
we feed the albatross
our disguised birds
hidden in the luggage
between love
the emergency extra pair of socks
that smile that makes judgment day bearable
eyes that are worth setting the world ablaze
travel sized toothpaste and who we really are
air lines would love to see what my carry on really holds
they would let me on the plane for an extra charge
just for leaving the bell tower


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