The Whiskey Taster’s Flavor Guide

Crack Head

So many ideas rest in my head
kinda like the dreams who die in my bed
figurative bullets fill me full of lead
figurative money what I call bread
without it, I...
would probably fall dead
sometimes I tell people I live in a shed
In winter...
got some screws loose in my sled
credit is “cred,” suits are the FEDS
I'm on my meds
maybe I’m on me rather instead
the words I have said the blood I have bled
oh yeah my meds, I’m on my meds
I deserve cred, I deserve bread
paranoid in my shed scared of the FEDS
scared that I’m dead and bullets with lead
I bleed my own blood, scared to be bled
i'm on my meds can't you hear what I said?
On a hill all alone in the snow with my sled
So many ideas rest in my head
many come from the books I have read
maybe my meds is the pen in my head?
Maybe that' just the way I was bred
maybe I’ve just bled inside of my head
maybe give my meds some of the cred?
I am a leader, I can lead, I have led
Its seasonal, unbeatable but reasonable DREAD
I hope you have listened to the words you just read.
Because I can promise you...I’m off my meds.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
The Whiskey Taster’s Flavor Guide
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace