"Little boys are being handed syringes of vodka.." |
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. |