Impostor Possums

I wrote this to write this so here's a poem about issues

The sound of raindrops falling, bouncing up and down on a concrete pavement

Funny how that action encapsulates life, complex yet basic how our days spent

Yet here we stand, you and I, lost in the truth we hide and the proof provides

Itself in the youth’s two eyes and how it stupefies, lost in the truth we lie

How I’m searching for your human interaction assuming we’re in a passion

We’re just two students on a path and I’m foolish to think I’m passin’

To think I’d make the grade but it seems it’s hopeless, writing notes till I’m noteless

So, on my dreams I’ll focus of my queen of oceans and how her sea is open

But on a throne of coal, I’ll grow unsteady, so I sold my soul to show I’m ready

Holding snow till it’s cold and heavy, till I’m thrown alone like old confetti

Meaning I’m bright but in pieces still it don’t matter when you’ve served your purpose

You don’t know how alone you left me to take part in this serpent circus

On a certain surface, holding snow till I get frost bite but that day frost bit

Off more than he could chew so he was forced to swallow his pride till he lost it

He lost it in a mosh pit somewhere in Boston amongst the impostor possums

What it cost him, caution, in a costume accosted where his coffin’s droppin’

On a frozen road, I’m cold and petty knowing I’ve taken the farthest dive

Yet in my mind, in the stars we lie but let’s strike a match for every scar we hide

Instead, I’ll strike a match and burn our photographs and watch as they go to ash

But avoidance has such a morbid grasp, in the game of love, I forfeit fast

However, taking the softest path, isn’t quite my way please believe it

That’s why I’m defeated feedin’ the heated heathens easily eatin’ the seeds of Eden

And so I’m lovin’ livin’, livin’ livid as a poet who’s selfish

Cuz I can’t fight your wars till I’m done with mine but at least I’ll know what self is

When I’m on my deathbed lying hopeless but here’s some wishful thinking

I may be in Hell now but I’ll make it to Heaven, call it a blissful inkling

But this, this poem is dedicated to that fateful game of chess

And as much as I love Pac, we ain’t the same, cuz I for one, am scared of death

So when I pass have my grave stone engraved so, “This poor bastard was afraid to rot

But his biggest fear was living without you and that by far is the scariest thought”

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