I'm sorry about the dog (October 2025)

 

Its the shit beneath the taxi 

It’s the making of the trade 

Its the lack of good folks to look up to when you’re in the thirteenth grade 

Its the smell of rotten dog food 

And its the corpse of the mutt 

Its searching for serving jobs because what I did wasn’t enough 

Its the kissing of the foot and the bruises on the knees

It’s a black lace corset that makes it hard to breathe 

It’s the rosary around my neck and the irony of that 

It’s the beer in a plastic water bottle that’s gone still and flat

It’s a sardonic apology courtesy of artificial intelligence 

It’s the threat of being merely a vicenarian and losing all relevance 

Credibility is kosher and resilience is base line 

If I wasn’t cherry picked or hand plucked generality would have been fine 

Justification is null and void at a conference table crying 

Its the pilling of your sweaters, the boom of your voice 

The sinister thought that perhaps I never had a choice 

That I could not have changed it, with any performance 

Remaining a stonehenge each evening was an act of endurance 

I was in mourning for my life, I was, more than you knew 

The artistic integrity was lost in the tears I shed and blood I drew 

This wound I’ve been licking, its an act of survival 

Its a cold shoulder I give when I used to be a disciple 

A prodigee, and prodigy, an embarrassment 

Its the severing of myself after graphic attachment 

I never smelt your breath, it wasn’t mine to smell 

This could be attributed to me seeping into the floor while you yelled 

I’m no trophy, no divine young artist, no poster child 

If I just could have winced less, made the shattering of the soul more mild 

I didn’t start the buzz down the chain, I had no control of the current 

I’m innocent I swear, I was nothing other than a loyal servant 

I’ll forgive myself somehow if you can’t do it for me 

I’ll forgive myself somehow 

I’m sorry about the dog