Mickey Ryan Poet I do not know?

Killed By a Blessing

Tell me your lying.

Tell me this isn't mine.

Made a mistake this time.

Provoking life with no revoking of reality.

To or to not make it a fatality.

And actually live with the mentality.

Of having a gun on my own flesh and blood.

Yet, sensing my own would be done.

To take this one of pregnancy.

With the irony.

Of living a legacy.

That is the epitome of the pit of me.

And my stupidity.

All I am.

All I haven't been.

What I could of been.

Not to be left dead.

Killed not by a bullet, but by a blessing.

Life is to costly for me.

There is no mabey for this baby.

This legacy just isn't ready.

Nor am I.

To die.

Of ambition and living.

Still itching for a contract.

To contract a means of green to be freed.

Yet, in the wake of my mistake.

I am left with the deed of destroying my seed.

Bringing up the burning, yearning of knowing...

Positive or Negative?

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