I gave my last dollar to a girl named Louisianne.
She stuttered, pressed it to her chest, lest
she befall decrepit hands.
Now she slurs "thank you" when I pass
and flinches when I stand.
Dear God, make me a man. What's the price?
I went to high school with her daughter, brought up by her second dad.
She was pretty, she was sheltered,
she had bruises on her hand.
And now I hear her from my window
wailing like an ox.
Wearing stilettos on syringe-filled sands where the junkies go to rock.
Restitution keep me steady for the shaking's gone too far.
Burn the boxes on the hillside,
suburbia, tear it apart,
it's so hard--what it takes to feel alive.
Because you stare at the world and it stares back.
Sickly girls with crippled hears are walking silently, in time,
crushing roses in their bloodied hands
and screaming in their minds.
They're not alright, but one belongs to me.
And I read that love is blind, so I'm destroying everything I see.
released August 17, 2014
all rights reserved