Crazy As You

Preface: I had some issues with the first and last parts. There's a sort of craziness and back and forth remembrance sort of thing going on. Part of me wants it like this, another part of me wants it to be smooth and sequenced. I struggle with these two parts every time I read them. It makes me feel like there's a war going on between following some specific writing rules and just going a bit crazy. In some ways that's the feeling I want. Anyway, please offer suggestions or comments. Thanks!

Inspired by an early Eminem rap.

Crazy As You

They say he’s crazy, lazy, stressed out on crack. They hear his story, the gory truth they can’t imagine. They listen, they hear the passion and fear, pretending they don’t – or they just won’t hear. Still he tries, between her cries and sighs. He dies as he kills her, and then runs away. He may live to see another day. He says this world is more screwed up than him as he kills his wife, flashbacks of life. They hear her scream, they wonder why, but they don’t try to understand. All they see is a crazy man. He mourns for a life no longer his. His wife cheated, what about the kids? He beats her repeatedly non-discreetly he drives wildly down the road, hands at her throat he chokes her. Wild eyes darting madly, sadly her life is through, and still he cries, “not crazy as you.”

He says our homes are more screwed up than his; fathers raping little kids. Maybe he’s right; he’s not the crazy one. My son - for fun - he burned his wife and child. Went running wild through the neighborhood, said he killed her for her own good. And he’s not the only one going mad, it’s sad, but what can we do? Sit back and blame it all on you, and him and her and everyone but ourselves. Pretending, we build our own cells to keep out the world; block out all the pain. We don’t realize we strain in vain to maintain a grain of freedom. We cry out at night and dream of suicide from our own guns. Then we scrutinize our own sons for having fun maliciously. Suspiciously we gaze across the street trying to avoid the Heat. At night we watch the news as it sings the blues of our own lives – murders, rapes, suicides, and we shake our heads sadly, gladly it wasn’t us; but it is. We try to hide it from the kids, but they know. It’s too late to put on a show. Pretending won’t get us anywhere. We’ll stay here until we make it there – where? Maybe the grave. It’s our own lives we try to save, but we don’t make it so we beat the kids when they cry at night, don’t feed them, turn off all the lights, leave them home to fight your poverty. We hear the words whisper “crazy as me, crazy as me, crazy as me.” Every day becomes a battle fought uphill as we reduce ourselves to roadkill, trying hard to cross the street, yet we still meet defeat. Somehow along the way, we may live to see another day.

So slow to trust, so quick to pass the blame to your mother, “She never raised me right, she left me crying in the night.” So where do you think they got it from – your kids, as they grab at the gun? You think they learned it out in the street, you think their bruises come from defeat? You think you didn’t cause them to seek a freak beneath the sheets to make all their dreams come true? What? Their problems didn’t come from you?

Who do we think we are? We can’t just shake our heads and walk away. They may not live to see another day. Stop being hypocrites and take the blame. Stop trying to play this game. You won’t win it, no one does, and they lose it just because. There’s no reason we can’t sympathize, live the life of others’ lives. See the world through their eyes. What’s wrong with having empathy, a little card with some sympathy? Yet our hearts are empty to the needful ones, as we shake our heads at others’ sons.

They hear his story now - again. They listen as a long lost friend. They hear the passion and the fear, no, this time they really hear… They hear him crying as he pulls a knife. They feel his pain as he grabs his wife. They know he wants to scare her, but gets caught up in his anger. They hear her screams as he takes her life; they know the sadness as he holds his wife. Knowing now he has to save his child from the life he lived when he was wild. They know his frantic-ness to get away, and they’re glad he lived another day. Then they recall those words he said so true, “Not crazy as you, not crazy as you, crazy as you…”