Staring down the barrel of a 45
Alot of people don't understand the meaning of words to me, primarily songs, lyrics, poetry. Women think that it's attractive, a quality that they look for in men. But that's not what I'm trying to convey. Not the lyrics that mean anything to me.
"It's Hard to Say 'I Do', When I Don't"
I speak fast and I'm not gonna repeat myself, no
So listen carefully to every word I say:
"I'm the only one who's gonna get away with making excuses today,
You're appealing to emotions that I simply do not have"
Blackmailed myself
(Cause I ain't got) Cause I ain't got anyone else
"This is a stick up
Give us all your inspiration"
I've got the red carpet blues baby
"So put your hands in the air and don't make a sound
But don't get the wrong idea
We're gonna shoot you
We're gonna shoot you
And there's nothing in your head or pocket, throat or wallet
That could change just how this goes
No
We're gonna shoot you
We're gonna shoot you"
When I said that I'd return to you I meant more like a relapse
Now and again I think "His and her's" "For better or worse"
But the only ring I want buried with me are the ones around my eyes
"You're appealing to emotions that I simply do not have"
I've got the red carpet blues baby
"So put your hands in the air and don't make a sound
But don't get the wrong idea
We're gonna shoot you
We're gonna shoot you
And there's nothing in your head or pocket, throat or wallet
That could change just how this goes"
And everyone shakes to the beat with a barrel down their throat
[x2]
But don't get the wrong idea
We're gonna shoot you
We're gonna shoot you
The connection that guns have with my childhoos is morbid, and pretty sick. But heed, it's not my fault. Those that know me, met me in person, know a bit of my past.
I was a crack baby, born at three pounds and 4 oz. I nearly died. The same goes for my baby brother Andrew. He was a crack baby fathered by my father's twin brother. My brother has fraternal twins age three now. Does that make us half brothers? or 3/4 brothers. It's fucked up.
By the time my mother got off drugs and won us back from social services I was almost 6, and Andrew was two. Both of our father's were dead by this time, mine shot during a drug deal, Andrews; drug overdose. My mother was not married to either.
It was at this point that my mother chose to start dating. This is when my life went to shit. It was alright at first, the many faceless men that tried to be nice and played catch in my backyard. My mother had very low standards. She didn't end up with one of the nice faceless men that ran through my life like water.
She ended up with the man that would become my stepfather. They married when I was almost seven. The abuse had been going on for a year already.
Because my mother hates/d herself so much when she realized how much drugs had fucked her up she decided to become an alcoholic. It numbed her to what my stepfather was doing. She knew all along. That's the worse part of it. She even told me that when me and Andrew visited a month or so ago.
The fact that she drank so much that she could turn a blind eye to her children in pain makes me slightly resent my mother. Hell, it's more than slightly. It's alot.
I've seen things that would probably get me kicked off LJ for even posting them.
But, now we come to the road to explain the significance of a 45, in my life.
He thought it was a joke, point the gun in the kids face, see what happens. Threaten the kis with it, pistol whip the kid, Fuck let's just torture them. Make them stare down the barrel and experience fear. Make them shake and cry. It didn't matter that I was only nine years old. Not at all, didn't matter my baby brother was only five.
The images that are burned into the back of my skull will stay with me till I die. Slowly and painfully since my mother's drug habit's induced Lupus. Thanks mom. She cried when I refused to tell her that I loved her last time we were there.
Can you see why?