Soup and a sandwich?

Soup and a sandwich?
I don’t have the bandwidth.
My own supply?
I don’t get high with.
The ones that I hang with,
I’m gonna die with:
the brothers and sisters
who try to survive with courage and bravery
combating slavery of the MIND with.

I’m falling behind with 
my rhyme for the time I did
for the crime I did
for thinking that I had
to stay with the ones
I fly with? 

I should’ve
said bye bye with 
two fingers I’m eating the pie with,
and claiming the milage
thinking I’m stylish
forgetting my smile is with YOU.
So I empty the garbage.
I never got far with
my art in the park
or my heart on my sleeve
when I didn’t believe in MYSELF.

I work for my money
on day shifts and night shifts
feeding the righteous
on gravy and biscuits
cakes for the high-viz
sister in the kitchen
loving her work
every coffee so hot
it’s a double entendre
you want me with?
The five dollar bags you deal with?
The hillbilly you get real with?

I steal this.
Vulture of cultural 
appropriation is my vocation.
This is no vacation.
My life is a stay-cation.
If I’m not mistaken,
I have been bringing the bacon.
I am bringing the bacon.
Bringing the bacon.
Bringing the bacon.

2022