You have plucked refuse from the ocean,
It contains no wisdom, no potion.
Just an egocentric notion,
No healing tonic or lotion.
I locked up my truth inside of a jar,
And sent it away to someone afar.
My life was unraveling it was coming undone,
So I bottled myself as a prize to be won.
Do not invest in the words that you read,
It is only your thought on which you should feed.
My invalid existence has taken it's toll,
Empty promises bottled to revive my soul.
I have no answers,
No mystic advances.
No rhyme that is new,
No message that's true.
Garbage parading as treasure,
Over valued illusions of pleasure.
You won't like what I write,
Won't help you sleep at night.
No lullaby,
No alibi.
No cure for what ails,
No muting the wails.
I bring you no luck,
No fortune struck.
No lucky charm,
No nurturing arms.
Don't look to the oceans or skies for your truth,
Don't seek answers from mystics, or psychics or sleuths.
You are the author, the captain, the Queen,
You are the narrator of this scene that you dream.
Invest even a slither of the hope that you sling,
To distance spots in the sky, to the darkness you sing.
No one exists that knows who you are,
As well as you already know you're a star.
You don't need hope that is flung from afar,
Over the hardest of days you have survived so far.
So stop pushing away all the things you call shit,
Accept that it's yours, relax and just sit.
