Workin' Progress

We're all a work in progress

Do you progress your work?

We're all a worth to process

How do you process your worth?

I went from H.I. To Playwrite

Unsavory crass piercings to favoring rap writtens

From raw stunts to AllOne

Depraved with my lashed skin and burnt flaming hands in cinema

To the cadence and fast rhythms the aims of the past switching

Johnny Knoxville: breaking my back living

Tennessee Williams, beast with language of vast tinting

Menagerie glass prisms, a slave to the craft penning

Note factor: no matter the place of my ambition

My brain isn't stagnant, in a state of it's transition

With creative and grand visions

A hurricane and wingspan kissing, (it's the butterfly effect.)

I was crazed in the beginning, but I tried to vent it

Dependent on making up planned fiction

With a wonder I invent, and now I'm clear headed

With ambiguous sad images as how Shutter Island ended

And whenever I'm progressive, I accept it, it's expected

We're all a work in progress

Do you progress your work?

We're all a worth to process

How do you process your worth?

Ideally I'd wish I'd whisper sweet nothings in your ears

But really I'll just speak so much you'll wish I wasn't there

My heart isn't encased in any sort of picture frame

It ripped the cage and slipped away (much like the Grinch's eh?)

It's got a resting ridiculous rate of 1,000 words a minute pace

And those words tend to escape unexpectedly intense and insane

My birthday cards get lengthy and mushy quickly

Crammed cramped confessionals encouraging fulfilling living

They say more than most parents to their kids by fifty

It's to make up for not seeing you enough because I'm busy

And simply to amend that I'm too broke for gift giving

Silly and interestingly: I scrawl 'em while driving from the gift shop

My Kodak moment's the cutting room floor of Hitchcock

Most of my favorite clothing is thrift bought

And more often than not: I get depressed instead of pissed off

I'm just not the guy who's gonna yell if/when we're fighting

It's actually unexciting, I'll talk rationally and nicely

Till you ask me to leave, brightening, since I'm not dramatically enticing

"Where's the passion wheres the lightning?"

Honestly, I find conflict frightening

And I'd rather tell you I was wrong

And that I hate myself in writing

Than turn beet red and pretend I know the right thing

And whenever I'm rejected, I accept it, it's expected

We're all a work in progress

Do you progress your work?

We're all a worth to process

How do you process your worth?

Chrono-miser afraid to waste time, as I spend it's

Directly affecting my self-worth and value, taxing my connections

To fulfill personal objectives, unable to find a balance so I'm left in a deficit

Depressing: we got all this baggage, but we ain't going anywhere

Take my leave of absence, can't move on, I see you everywhere

So I take the pen (pin) out feelin' explosive like a grenadier

The last several years...regrets and fears

Exes speared through the middle like an asterisk

Had you on my arm, as the tattoo is, you had to skip

Now you're only on my mind, show me there's a sign

Totally despite supporters in corner, I've been lonely in my life

There's a pulling in my throat, every breath I take

Heart is overworked, shackled by a heavy weight

Pressure behind my eyes, like when a levy breaks

Wishing there's a penny placed there almost every day

My lips twitch itching to frown, at any given minute now

I'll be six in the ground, roots writhing around

Went from two peas within a pod, to ruined beans that sit and rot

I choose to scream at mythic monstrous

Dubiously existent gods, as ship or water

Lip or dock, you never know the role you're cast:

Sitting bottom/swim in salt on which side of the fishing rod

Here's a hint for ya'll, maybe there's a different option...

I feel like I sink and bob, bonded to lines that trick those caught

Even in difficult thoughts, my ending hope's to live out long

And give the citizens upon this coast and spinning rock

Some hope to grip upon, keep em hooked, stringing along and singing songs

And whenever I'm connective, I accept it, it's expected