As Shite as Poetry Gets (Skeleton Draft)
Babies only cry ‘cause the world’s a depressing place
Heroin, Government, Blood on your face
Only miracle you’ve seen was to be a clever scam,
Married you off to a man who didn’t give half a damn
About whether you lived, died, or your fertile luck
He wanted a good Christian wife to beat and fuck
Belt-whipping, Bible-toting son-of-a-preacher,
Lessons of shame found no better teacher
Never noticing a swell around her belly,
Busy watching the brimstone shit on the telly
What is a relationship to prove your dignity?
Broken, ashamed, Nickelback’s credibility
Trapped, alone; you’re no porcelain doll
But instead a scale-model Berlin Wall
He made sure you’d not a single friend,
Church-goers around you ignorant to no end
Impenetrable, immobile, defeated,
Tired woman-stereotype too often repeated
After the tearing-down of your behemoth,
Came the wearied soul. Skull, cracked; fist
Against the only man you’ve ever loved
Thrown face-first onto the sink, shoved
Against Bronze Statues of the Christ,
Oh Lord, the irony, God must play dice!
My darling, my young one, killed in cruelty
Whilst Christ of Heavens chuckles. Irony…
Inside of you, death internalized
Misery and regret, perpetual, eternalized…
Eighty-six, at your only son’s gravestone
You’ve but a Bible, a dirty frock and a wishbone
Your arms and hope outstretched to God
Your legs and piss against his counterpart Sod
The Devil, you weep, had overseen your life,
And what did god do to end the strife?
You shit, now, but this finds a holier target,
Hoped for past faith, as though you ever had it
The Holy Book buried in shit as you run,
Realized God and Satan are together, as One.
Heroin, Government, Blood on your face
Only miracle you’ve seen was to be a clever scam,
Married you off to a man who didn’t give half a damn
About whether you lived, died, or your fertile luck
He wanted a good Christian wife to beat and fuck
Belt-whipping, Bible-toting son-of-a-preacher,
Lessons of shame found no better teacher
Never noticing a swell around her belly,
Busy watching the brimstone shit on the telly
What is a relationship to prove your dignity?
Broken, ashamed, Nickelback’s credibility
Trapped, alone; you’re no porcelain doll
But instead a scale-model Berlin Wall
He made sure you’d not a single friend,
Church-goers around you ignorant to no end
Impenetrable, immobile, defeated,
Tired woman-stereotype too often repeated
After the tearing-down of your behemoth,
Came the wearied soul. Skull, cracked; fist
Against the only man you’ve ever loved
Thrown face-first onto the sink, shoved
Against Bronze Statues of the Christ,
Oh Lord, the irony, God must play dice!
My darling, my young one, killed in cruelty
Whilst Christ of Heavens chuckles. Irony…
Inside of you, death internalized
Misery and regret, perpetual, eternalized…
Eighty-six, at your only son’s gravestone
You’ve but a Bible, a dirty frock and a wishbone
Your arms and hope outstretched to God
Your legs and piss against his counterpart Sod
The Devil, you weep, had overseen your life,
And what did god do to end the strife?
You shit, now, but this finds a holier target,
Hoped for past faith, as though you ever had it
The Holy Book buried in shit as you run,
Realized God and Satan are together, as One.