VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Michael Lacy

Is this some kind of beautiful pain

Or am i some kind of modern day slave 

Just trying to remember that

I’m only captive to what I try to escape from

If I view my bad days in the way I will on 

My death bed, let’s call it a futon

Then I’m still wanting to experience them again

This is too deep to be called a rap

I’m too much into philosophy

To be considered a real MC and carry a gat

But your wake is my asleep

Matter of fact 

These aches could fuel your dreams

And what I see would create a state of unease

So i just put it into these words so y’all can too

Rise up and conquer

This life full of greatness and somber

But I challenge you to waste time no longer

This is it 

It’s a prelude to your state of conjure

I find this tremendous beauty on all of our insides

I’m about to shake this ground and rise

Just follow me 

We can recreate a painted sunrise

Illuminate the dark to shimmer-shine

Awaken dead bones to cling when they chime

I said rise up

This is our time

When they look back on us they’ll build a fuckin shrine!

Your life is worth mine

I’d die for all of you

Just to see one smile!

I love all of you 

Remember when you think of me

Just kick back and smash some tiles with your feet

Then smile

Let’s say there’s really a great white Jesus in the clouds

I should probably let Him know that I would take it all back

And let’s say there’s really an insane kind of devil under the ground

I should probably tell him how small to build my shack

But every time I analyze with these optics

Whether at church or at the Walmart, just shopping

I’m just not seeing them, nodda, yeah nothing

But what do I know I just base things on logic not assumption

I’d love to rise on up with y’all

But I float down like a river bends or how smoke flows through a glass bong

When you preach to me it never lasts long

But I appreciate you if your intentions are spot on

So float on up or sit the fuck down

You people are nervous for the verdict

But you’re just buried underground

The irony of the lost that thinks they’ve been found

I really do hate to point this out

Show me your Grace cuz you know I can’t shut this mouth.

I asked you once…

With broken knees on the ground

What if the lost can’t be found?

You women pull my buttons away from the strings, then cut

Like a dirty ice sickle waiting to drop on top of this mind pickle

Omg I think y’all r making me lose my fucking mind again, but who’s the fickle nut?

This is what making a whole Lotta changes looks like

Say something to me and I’m sure to really click these teeth when I bite

Your unaware of my murderous thought rates

Let’s call it a Terra-byte

Speed of light is what this is gonna equate

I’m energy, this is mass 

Cross me up squared

And I’m gonna relatively hand you your ass!

You dumb fucks don’t even know I just explained E=mc2

So what do I do on my next line?

Rhyme with squared or two

Fuck I’ll just satisfy all of you stooges and rhyme both like the fair dude that I am

Prick, you assume

Nah bruh, I consume 

Your mind, thought and even your girl

Just take this and know your just a lost pessimist

I still stand in shit and picture the best of us!

I gotta group of loved ones yeah they ain’t my friends

I feel like I’m 30 but I done kicked 40’s door down

Change your wish list 

If you’re hoping for me then sign the list!

Fuck it, this is a good time for woke me to go to sleep again

Someone pass me the fake weed 

No thanks I’ll stick to the real thing

Cuz yall don’t know that shit…it gave me the epilepsy

So fuck what you heard

And even worse to what you think

You think you know me?

Bitch you couldn’t even be told of me

So tape it shut or I’m gonna throw out everything 

Especially my kitchen sink.

I didn’t start this but I will finish it

It simple…to me you equal shit!

Despicable

Published by Mike Zone

Mike Zone is the former Editor in Chief of Dumpster Fire Press and managing editor of Concrete Mist Press. The author of Screaming in the End: Poems and Stories, Fuck You: A Fucking Poetry Chap, Shedding Dark Places (almost), One Hell of a Muse , as well as coauthor of The Grind and Razorville. A frequent contributor to Alien Buddha Press and Mad Swirl. His work has been featured in: A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Black Shamrock Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash, Better Than Starbucks, Piker Press, Punk Noir Magazine, Synchronized Chaos, and Cult Culture magazine.

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