deepundergroundpoetry.com

Killing You

Mother and Father, I'm killing you, I know;
knocked on your door the other morning,
took off my hat - she cried, he got angry -
someone had to tell you your little boy is
dead.
Dragged him out of the lake myself
after washing the blood off my hands;
blonde-haired, blue-eyed - he trusted me.
The fingerprints match, it's not long before
I'll be moving out and disconnecting my phone.

You gave him God, you led him to the machines;
he didn't want to see the world that way -
wasn't ready, you said, just a phase
when I grew out my hair and let strangers
make devil's work of my angel skin.
Where did you go wrong?
You bred a straight-edge with an aversion to
human contact and an iron sufficiency - that is,
metal in my blood.
The shame of sobriety is heavy - no one to
break over a table for waking up hung over, so
you can feel like a fucking authority.
Take me to work, daddy, I'll embarrass you in front
of all your friends, dressed the way I am
with everything my mother loathes coming first.

Maybe one day, you'll wake up and I'll be gone.
My room will sit like a miasma atop the house,
she will cry, he will get angry.