Play My Cards

I always say it's the last day.

The sun was shining in my past but that's blasé.

I'm always writing a rhyme whining about trying to grasp hay.

It's got me in a dark place, where sharks play and my hearts prey.

Lets start with my art and what my art sprays.

It's a spark in the dark, a light when you can't find the time to be smart and pray.

A mark from a time where I tasked away, asked a way.

Is there a basket case more than this bastard taste?

I should mask my face before I play my cards.

This way seems way too hard, with themes way too stark.

There's a weight to this, a way to bliss like a blade through my heart.