Ribmeat Of The Family Tree

Beyond the Medicating Stage

9-6-05

At first it was to grieve,
a step to ease the pain.
Broken pieces all over the bodies
told all the stories
while bitter hearts were hidden
by smug-smuggled egos,
and boys are always right.
Almost.

Then it was a way
to sleep after a long day
and put the tears,
ne'er to be cried,
finally at rest.
It was night after night,
for fight after fight,
and boys are always right.
Almost.

It swelled until it spilt into a lifestyle.
A habit to inhabit
if only to have it.
Imbibing life to survive it;
swerving to collide it.
Once in the morning
and once in the evening
'til it was all one.
Be it the only way
besides no way,
and girls are always right.
Almost.

No longer just for
social situations,
but a daily grind that happens
more than all of the time.
Consumed by consumption,
I need to unwind.
Fueled by fears of fears I might see
something else unseated or
unearthed or defeated,
I cannot wish to contain
anything more pushed in my domain.
This is my life,
a perpetual night,
and boys are always right.
Almost.