third tier

imagine a dagger at every step and still offering yourself

you weak jigsaw type fuck i wish you had your flesh ripped apart

for safety that never was you opted for survival

a safe dungeon you dug for yourself

you were never there

you never said that

you never did that

but fate had put you on a cross

they believed folklore passed on at your expense

slander flamed open at your expense

tis pit was yours

what is after crucifiction

rosaries with beads dripping of hebrew and arabic

calling to God to fix it all

fixation is my utopia

reclining on the edges of redemption i was buried today

rosaries are at it to redeem me where the streets failed to

there may be some layered stories of success hereabouts

but jackson still tried to go white -

and utopia has even buried teenage sons