4-18-17
I hate white people.
Dusty tabletops sit in the sun,
Falling over ashtrays,
We curtain lies in the floorboards,
Ceiling to piss stains,
We're living low.
Mama left when I was real young though,
And I move from family to family
But they don't wanna call me son though,
Get outta school and run home,
This ma don't ever wanna come home,
So I sit with a journal, in the attic,
Call again, just to pin the static
Track myself just to think I matter,
But that's a feeling I'm never having
Fuck my mom and fuck these kids,
My whole life just looks tragic
So I'll off myself and disappear,
Call it black magic.
Steven didn't like my haircut,
Steven didn't like my clothes,
Beat me up in the parking lot,
Dropped bills so nobody knows.
Steven hated my voice,
And Steven talked real smooth,
Well how the fuck does Steven talk
When he's missing his front tooth?
Steven bitched about blood,
But I've seen the cuffs,
Steven swallowed regret,
He was the first to throw the punch.
Steven talked real big,
Like his ego was in his vocal chords,
He spat at the ground,
Called my ma a hopeless whore,
You've got a nice truck
But you can't buy what jokes afford,
Cause words are stupid rich,
And your hope's a Ford,
Slam my fist into your folk's ford,
Then the cops showed up,
To take the names,
Can't hurt your reputation,
So he'll erase our case.
I hate Steven,
I hate white people.
Trouble,
What a word.
It's created me,
And you're afraid of this road,
And how it's taken me.
I don't play the victim,
But I do play God.
Permanent home.
No, this was never permanent.
My last ceiling had maps on it,
And I had a brother who gave me pills,
We'd spill secrets and safety
In the shed,
But secrets and safety are just words,
And like all things beautiful,
They've gotta end.
I hate white people.
Bible pages bleed at my image,
Mirrors melt into graves
Like a bad acid trip.
I found myself in possession
Of a weapon,
One worse than memory,
Because this one's gonna hurt.
I found myself in a drug,
And it's love,
One better than family,
'Cause ma sold me for another man.
I found myself on a street,
Where the river meets,
And the trees sway with culture,
We're in for a good day, California.
Load it and pull,
Load it and pull,
Three bullets to my name.
I am God,
And your life is a puddle in my hands.
I hate white people,
Fuck what you've done.
Fuck your suburban lives,
And your lies
And your cheap whores
And your "families"
Fuck your religion.
God is great,
He's going batshit.
- (m.m)
YOU ARE READING
Self Deception
PoetryPoetry 2017 And if I burn out in a fit of psychosis, remember me as a young god, with that smile made of daggers, even if I was the most dangerous thing you could've touched. Perhaps all that danger comes from the multiple personalities, but all I...
