On The Creep - Nicholas Viglietti

Your expectations

never match up to reality.

Ride ambition as high as the sun,

it’ll be slaughtered by midnight.

The moments never right,

and you’re never ready.

Lesser tries have burned better men,

your ice ain’t cold enough,

water dribbling...melted...done.

Slim directions & too much attack,

raw dog sliding;

go to the furthest point,

and still make it back

Live big, loud,

and to the fullest extent

of the outer most extreme.

Fake heart beats,

shell-casing words,

I only feel real in dreams.

Stay chill,

at the bottom of your lungs,

and learn to breathe more than deep.

This world expects to kill you

and it’s on the creep.

Fangs out...touch of death blues;

feel every painful chew,

and let hope die.

Legends are fiction,

only the story survives.

Nothing special, redundant news,

same boulder perched shoulders,

and Bodhi stylized cool –

ocean memories,

I’ve always been

straight born to lose.

Next life & less strife,

at least, the cockroaches get out alive.