little dreams in baby bubbles

there are some days the sound of you breathing makes me violent

i want to take you down with shattered glass and fist of fury

maybe that is my natural state of being-violent and angry and harsh

the screaming banshee warning of death and the reaper that brings it

while you instigate others to smash walls, hurl insults, derogatory flattery

spoken in screams wafting into my mind like the smell of hell and sulfur

there is no escaping the jagged edges of who we are, an explosion

sometimes i think i will go crazy or i have and hold a return ticket

a demented and fragmented dream, full color and surround sound

the sound of job and his troubles the theme song of decades

i am too tired

too pissed off

too foolish to understand

the truth of it is

i don’t buy into your pre-fab innocence

i know the dance of the fool from the tarot deck-it’s worn, dated

the back in the day recipe of fantasy with a sprinkle of truth

the piss, the smell, the pile of shit in the corner growing stale

the trademark wide-eyed confusion while calling contract killers

to attack, annihilation of the one person who hung around

the voice booming over the loud speaker not from your mouth

but reading your book of sadness and pity, verbatim

it’s such a cruel cruel world, you have had it bad-real bad

never your choice

never your actions

never your responsibility

it’s all a reaction to me

the small town girl with the silver boots

it was beautiful and fancy

punk rock shows, mohawks and lsd

you were the king until that night of gravel and poetry and glitter

it’s all been downhill since i came along, jezebel peddling lies

the nights in cheap motel rooms, staph infections and whores

i brought down the rain of crack and meth and malt liquor

i took your hand busting through metal for pills in brown bottles

that is the story you have told, the reality you wove into being

i don’t remember it that way, but i was never as smart as you

i recall begging and tears and pleading hoping for change

the bitch sitting on my floor telling me how to live my life

the smell of the hospital room a beautiful baby in my arms

as he held the gun to my head demanding to know your location

i remember frozen bank accounts and jobs in laundry factories

bus tickets from austin and midnights driving trying to find you

burning beans in the kitchen and missing medicine for the kid

seven years of children with questions and tears and fears

the same seven years of starter fluid and lithium in your veins

guitars to the head, seizures, fist fights and whiskey hang overs

time after time, year after year, fight after fight, the promises broken

both of us with blood on our hands and knives in our backs

now here we are co-owners of a mountain of destruction

playing who has it the worst and who done it this time

drawing straws for angry dope fiend of the year

i don’t know if i can handle anymore psychic warfare

the battlefield is soaked with blood and sweat

boots sinking in mud to the knees-our own battle of antietam

for once, i am down to my last dollar and my last hope

i can’t see painless way out of the forest and shadows

but i know i can’t go on like this, i am running out of steam

to hell with memories, fighting, forgiveness and fault

we are family, a mixture of dna formed life of beauty

give me the damned treaty and i will sign

i give up, i surrender




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