Dirty Business
congratulate me on my fortitude.
On my ability to wage war
with soft advertisements and citric acid.
It seems as if a fairy tale
to lay here in the snow
seeking solace in the bright light cold.
Tasting like preservatives and dirt.
I am a survivor. Never a victim.
This horrific Dream will heal and clot.
and sometime in the near furture
I will drown in a dessert,
seeing red and clawing my own blood.
My gray skin will break away
in little stinging cuts.
I will stay a companion of pain,
sick and gone forever.
There is no way out for me.
Only little + signs carved into my retina.
I will make a journey to a foreign land
and show them how distasteful I can be.
A Brain dead testament to two guns and young-
voodoo.
Don't let my mother see me like this.
I will seek safety in a walk
through the fire of two roads.
I will promise to spend my happiest days
lurking under abandoned puzzles
listening for the drum that will make me a HERO.
Maybe then in an introduuction
precious words,
much more valuable than precious stones,
will entwine my heart
and produce something like
a fabrication of love.
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