What Would Your Father Say?

When did she start to wear lingerie?
When did she start picking up my habits?
I'm a hypocrite.
But i mean no harm.
I had no idea and now she causes such alarm.

I don't tell my stories.
They stop at my ice eyes.
I don't tell my stories.
I swear i'll tell no lies.

She says i have good intentions.
The fist gets in the way somedays.
She's a hypocrite.
But it's all my fault.
She's soon to know how much it hurts to fall

College education unused
Go to school to go farther than me.
I'm a hyporite.
But i guesss thats the game.
Try to be better than your own name.

I don't tell my stories.
They stop at my ice eyes.
I don't tell my stories.
I swear i'll tell no lies.

What happened to bedtime stories?
What happened to the monsters in the closet?
I miss your small eyes.
Now they're wide open.
Now i fear what's seen.

I don't tell my stories.
They stop at my ice eyes.
I don't tell my stories.
I swear i'll tell no lies.

You Were Such a Humdrum Bum.

What size bucket should be used for the shattered and tattered, faithless body strewn across a stained pink rug. One does wonder what hopeful dream ran away
and left this dejected body in such a lifeless manner.
Without movement or sound, dreams burst from the shaken body. Stories lurch from inside it,spilling out like vomit. The questions that have gone unasked, unanswered, waver on the tip of the tounge and slide from sullen eyes, that at one time portrayed the sun itself.
The sidewalk never settles benieth your heels. Weed your overgrown garden of thorns. The ones that cradle your faith. How happiness excites you mind, envelopes you head completely. Your up to you waist in cement and stone. No amount of faithful shoulders will sooth your unrested head.
Pick up a shovel and unravel, unbury, ur past. The shattered and tattered, faithless body is your own. If you bury things when they're still breathing, they will knaw their way out, till their spilling from your mouth. The only question heard now is shreaking up from the stained and faded carpet...Are we born with the creases on the joints of our fingers or is it some trait we aquire?

I Wish I Had A Street Corner To Stand On So I Could Rap This Around Your Face

So now i've started feeling the pain.
It's grip of grief wrapped 'round me.
Strapped here to ground me.
And i'll tell you again i'd rather sit in the rain than try to refrain
from staring into the cause of my pain.
How much i wish to be full of grace,
right at the moment,
right at this place,
this era,
this time.
Whats your punishment for commiting this crime.
You're afraid there's no escape from this game,
but i'm afraid the only way to escape from this place is to
harden my face,
forget your embrace,
and pretend that someday i'll understand.
You'll go on to pretend
you're so grand.
You're great,
but your crumbling,
stumbling;
You can't seem to find a lightswitch,
and so you'll keep on fumbling.
Just remember,
theres no escape from that which you create,
and you created all these blocked escapes.
Nailed up the doorways with your fake inalienability.
So when you realize you've no escape
excuse me for my incivility,
as i smile,
and turn away.

Question on Regret Answered

" You ask me about regret? Let me tell you a few things about regret,my darling.There is no end to it. You cannot find the begining of the chain that brought us from there to here.Should you regret the whole chain , and the air in between, or each link seperatly as if you could uncouple them? Do you regret the begining which ended so badly, or just the ending itself?"
-- Ingrid Magnussen "White Oleander"

Why Don't I Just Use A Gun?

This battle has already been won.
So why am i still standing here,
alone,
prepared for bloody battles.
Shield hangin limply in my caloused hand.
Sword swaying at my side.
I know there's an uneasy confusion smeared on my face.
Aren't there suposed to be flames thundering up from the ground in front of me?
The only thing bursting from the ground is baby's breath and daisies.
This battle field is full of daises.
The dead anti-christ stories have been carried away for their mass burial.
Baptism five years past,
but i never moved from my spot in this field.
As if the devil is going to pop out of the surrounding forest
and brand his name upon my forehead as i sleep.

Finish Your Cigarette, Get Off The Steps, Get Your Shotgun and Go Hunting For Summer Trouble

Ever felt like your not sure whats gonna happen to you next and your scared. Well mabye not scared, just kinda waiting for it to come. Just sitting on your front steps smoking a cigarette. Wondering, "when the hell is it gonna happen, i'm bored".

Summers here and i'm not sure what to do with it,my life i mean. Fuck it up a little? Fool around and be a kid while it lasts, make mistakes and not regret them....or straighten out, except my responsiblities, get a job, keep up on house work, stop smoking, don't sneak around my parents, do what a good christian girl would.

Well i'm on the roof of my house everynight, smokeing a cigarette and wondering when the next big thing is gonna get to me. It's not gonna come if i sit in a church pew repeating psalms. It'll come when i don't expect it. At least thats what everyone says. I usually go looking for the trouble that will knock me off my feet. The struggle to get up is good for your health....thats the best excuse i can give for getting into the trouble.

But, i can't seem to find anymore trouble and i'm getting tired of looking. But i feel this summer will be a good hunting season. Don't you think?

So finish your cigarette, get off the front steps, get your shotgun and go searching for some summer trouble.

My Son is The Messiah

i'm always watching people.
just sitting.
watching.
as if i'm waiting for something to to happen.
something amazing to burst out from within them.
ok so mabye i'm crazy.
a bit strange.
but not really,
people just like to say that to feel better about themselves.
admit it,
you'd be offended if someone said,
"your really not as crazy as you think."
ouch
that really hurts,
which is weird because calling someone crazy used to be a politicaly incorrect insult.
3o years ago if someone said "i'm jesus",
they're "crazy" and are sent to the asylum.
now if you said you were jesus you might get some rude snappy remark like,
"If your jesus, then i'm mary magdeline..fuck off"
ok mabye not but you get my point...
It would be funny to have kids with jesus at this day and age.
or be the mother of jesus. because every mom thinks that she has the best kid ever.

beat this though....

"my son is the messiah."

shot down.
you lose, your kid will never be able to measure up to that level
i wonder if mary ever thought that made her cool with the soccer moms, or whatever they played back then. it would never work. they'd be too jelous.
but it's ok, she'll continue with her life.
she'll go home and steal jesus' power
(just enough for some bread and wine)
out of the jar above the stove.
i bet thats where they kept it till jesus was old enough to handle it.
nobody wants a two year old pulling some water into wine stunt...
..thats just wrong..