Surrender the Fantasy
some swill I was working on in gov. that I decided to revamp.....it is still shit but oh fucking well.........
I feel like I have to be abused to be normal
these days
with everybody now in broken homes
harboring broken hearts like refugees
that know no better than to
instinctively fear living -
passing on phobias like peace pipes
and popping pills like candy
all poured on top of tears like hot fudge on ice cream.
This is the age of broken things
when a life lived in tact is entirely unheard of
so no one realizes that the human condition
never used to be pain
til they accepted it as such.
You -
ever so worldly -
treat me the way you would a fledgling,
a hopeless foreign innocent
to take under your wing.
The whole time I thought I knew
I had no place in this,
will you confirm my beleifs so readily;
tell me that a must adapt -
i'm not good enough as I am
which is naked
and unlfinching,
hurry and clothe me in your pyschosis
so I won't recognize myself in your eyes
anymore -
as if selling my soul
for the purchase of another;
more politically correct;
more accpetable to take out in public;
are such practices you would happily accept.
You call me stubborn;
headstrong;
call me willfull
in a manner much like pity
mixed with scorn.
I know the way your eyes look
when you sigh
in retalliation
to my refusal to take my beating lying down.
A tinge of amusemement;
chagrin;
flashes mischevious and knowing
in dirty prayers that I am right,
that you will lose,
and it's hard to tell you that what I learned
I will not use.
I ask you questions -
unwittinly teaching you pacience -
and you answer -
unknowingly composing my suicide letter.
everybody is out to get you -
I recall you infprming me,
and maybe if I were a victim I'd be scared
but as it is I am ddetermined to fight
on my terms only.
I will not "play ball"
in a game that was never fair.
I feel like I have to be abused to be normal
these days
with everybody now in broken homes
harboring broken hearts like refugees
that know no better than to
instinctively fear living -
passing on phobias like peace pipes
and popping pills like candy
all poured on top of tears like hot fudge on ice cream.
This is the age of broken things
when a life lived in tact is entirely unheard of
so no one realizes that the human condition
never used to be pain
til they accepted it as such.
You -
ever so worldly -
treat me the way you would a fledgling,
a hopeless foreign innocent
to take under your wing.
The whole time I thought I knew
I had no place in this,
will you confirm my beleifs so readily;
tell me that a must adapt -
i'm not good enough as I am
which is naked
and unlfinching,
hurry and clothe me in your pyschosis
so I won't recognize myself in your eyes
anymore -
as if selling my soul
for the purchase of another;
more politically correct;
more accpetable to take out in public;
are such practices you would happily accept.
You call me stubborn;
headstrong;
call me willfull
in a manner much like pity
mixed with scorn.
I know the way your eyes look
when you sigh
in retalliation
to my refusal to take my beating lying down.
A tinge of amusemement;
chagrin;
flashes mischevious and knowing
in dirty prayers that I am right,
that you will lose,
and it's hard to tell you that what I learned
I will not use.
I ask you questions -
unwittinly teaching you pacience -
and you answer -
unknowingly composing my suicide letter.
everybody is out to get you -
I recall you infprming me,
and maybe if I were a victim I'd be scared
but as it is I am ddetermined to fight
on my terms only.
I will not "play ball"
in a game that was never fair.