An Account of Dead Children

An Account of Dead Children





A spider the shade of an apple
crawled, creeped, crept
into Eve's awaiting mouth

sin nature became sin
and seduction became addiction
in the fatal second
that innocence was no longer enough

little girls are being handed spiders now
little boys, syringes full of vodka
little ones, it will numb your throats the first time
and numb your hearts every time after
do you ask yourself
what is your emptiness,
and why have you so little love?

a sexy surface coats every broken young soul
one more hit of whatever
one more sip of the cheapest thing you could find
but scratch the social cover
and an ever empty hand stretches
to grab for something
besides what they are holding onto
for some kind of half-feeling life

let go of the rope in this moment
and maybe you won't fall into a web
a fifty fifty chance of being spun again
half a chance blood and smoke
will be drawn once again
half a chance of the chesire cat routine returning
fake smile in light, tears once behind a screen of dark
fifty fifty chance for as long as you want
until rock bottom seems so damn close
until trying is no longer a way of life

dissolve trying into real love
trying is another word we use for failing
no maybes, just yes or no
every temptation known
to every little girl and old man
was known by a Man
who spilled enough blood for you
a thousand times over

He takes each hit for you,
you get Him wasted every night
and you would feel Him inside of you
if you weren't so numb

let the rubber bands come off
painful withdrawls will come,
as the feeling rushes back
to a place it hasn't been allowed
in a very long time

but we were meant to live
with uninterrupted circulation through our souls
and once that seductive surface is shattered
He will hold you

He will hold you.