. . . . If it wasn’t for bad luck I’d have no luck at all Plus I struggle to practice what I preach & my congregation of words aren’t all saints, so I seek confessions, secret blessings, where I go to the booth to retreat aggressions I’m just sick of being judged by “The Judge”. So just spare me the verdict cause I’ve already heard it, about a million different times reworded & It’s getting harder to drive cause there’s too many signs sending me in the wrong directions. & it’s not by accident that I’m caught in between lanes, on the highway to… Hell, even the blinds-folded the cards they were dealt. yet im all in, betting with cards that are off-suit. cause frankly, I’m just not suit-able to attend my funeral all casual & I’m starting to get sick of this life Doubt this Dr.’ll Phil my prescription for this coffin. & often times they’ll proceed with the Silent Treatment. They say it’s good for the blacks. It’s hard living on this earth. Everyone including gravity wants to bring me down I’m just trying to fit-in to this life & every store I’ve gone to never seems to have my size. It’s either I’m too tall or it’s just the waist of my time. Doesn’t even matter cause my life doesn’t measure up to what it’s suppose to be. & come to think, I’m not a writer, I’m a biter, easily inspired by the next mans piece. So, call it what you want, it’s all life to me Bless.