I wake up dying, walking through a dream that never ends,
sleep-walking past porches where the light pretends.
They call me brother, then they open up their hands,
take what I built with callused palms and leave me where I stand.
My kindness is a currency they count and never pay,
they shop my heart for bargains, then they walk away.
Some nights I wish the dark would swallow every name,
let shadows do the keeping and erase the shame.
I drive my truck down backroads that remember rain,
the radio’s a whisper telling lies about the pain.
People chase the dollar like it’s holy and it’s right,
love sold at auctions under stadium lights.
The weight of favors sits like stones upon my chest,
I gave my all and watched those smiles turn into theft.
Sleepwalking through memories, I’m half alive, half ghost,
they toast my good fortune then they vanish like the toast.
I hate the way they want the parts that gleam,
they never saw the skeleton beneath my dreams.
If darkness is a blanket I could sink into and stay,
maybe then the morning wouldn’t hurt to face.
But when I whisper that I’d rather not exist,
a stubborn heartbeat proves the night can’t have its wish.
I keep the scars as maps of every time I bled,
a ledger full of lessons inked in promises unread.
I picture porches where the coffee’s for the soul,
where laughter is the payment and a smile makes you whole.
If I’m to fade into black, let it teach me how to live,
not steal the light forever or forget the love I give.
I’ll polish my boots and walk the miles I used to flee,
let dawn tattoo the edges with softer memory.
For every greedy hand that took, I’ll keep a kinder one,
for every false horizon, I’ll chase a different sun.
I don’t have tidy endings, just a rhythm and a plan,
to trade hollow glory for the work of being a man.
When the night gets heavy and the dollar’s all they see,
remember there’s a heartbeat that still wants to run free.
You are not a tally in a book that people only read,
you’re made of worn-out songs and hope and better deeds.
If sadness keeps you sleeping, wake up to a road that’s true,
take one step, then another—let the small things carry you.
I will try again though every wound is raw,
I’ll guard my kindness and still open up the door.
If you find me walking, not a ghost but something whole,
I’ll tip my hat and tell you how the darkness taught my soul. Still, I keep a faded photograph and one small stubborn light—a memory of a laugh beneath the porch, a promise to myself to fight Always
