I was wondering
if you would forgive me,
so I wrote down
a masterpiece.

Little old me,
Mister Misery.
Can you save a sinner
with a swear jar?

I never grew up,
stayed a star,
illuminated
in the dark.

Never more Poe Star.
I was worth a million.
You just had to look
into my eyes.

See dead clouds,
or see my eyes.
I see through
the sunshine.

Lace up my sneakers,
hit the three point line,
see me shine
like a diamond mind.

Wondering why
I was last
in line
at the checkout.

Wondering why
I was told class
was dismissed
before its time.

Mentality is
sobriety, and I
am vodka
with lime.

I never meant
to be a sunshine
acid tip on
your surly tongue.

I wanted to be
someone without guns.
I’ve been high strung
since 1991.

Can the loser
get some onions
before the
blooming comes?

I saw the sandwich.
Slightly nutritious.
Had to back off
for Twizzlers and Cheeze Whiz.

Been a manic misfit
before they named it.
Number three
with a bullet.

‘Cause I can’t stand
to pull sunshine
out of nectar,
call it something else.

But sunshine,
I’m trying
to see past
blame and lies.

Can I see
something other than
these dizzying highs,
vanishing lows?

Where did I go?
Where is my soul?
What is my soul?
Does it go spoiled?

 

Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. His third book, Train of Thought 2: Almost Home is available now at the Oddball Book Store.