Strange, is your southern comfort.
A cracked withering queen.
Your meat's not free range.
Heightening nothing but your senses.
But oh, what a scene.
Lowering your sensibilities.
Forgetting your responsibilities.
There's no humanity in your consumption.
Fully dubious, that there ever was.
Comes the time, for retribution.
She's got money for make-up, clothes, booze, 'n' drugs.
She's got time for temptations, corruption, hoes, 'n' thugs.
Another selfie in the bathroom.
Another boy in the bedroom.
Huffing perfume.
Putting filters on her eyes.
Now she never cries.
Just screams.
Like she screamed in the ride
to the hospital
to the therapist
Life makes it hard to cope
when you're related
to your rapist
Love can make you lie,
make you acquiescent
when he looks you in the eye
as he did, as an adolescent
demanding you now stop your yelling
in the same manner he told you
to shush 'cause there's no telling
Presently descends a hush
'Cause now she's a lush on dope
without talent or hope
She shoots up just like she shoots the shit
Entertains the men from behind the bar
a dull dirty dusty star
what will kill her
they'll say it was the rust in her cut
the blood in her stool
the vomit in her mouth
that like truth, could not come through
And I know he'll text me one night,
not knowing exactly what to do
even though I had told him a thousand times already
years ago.
We're no angels, none of us are
Maybe she'll be hit by a drunk, one night, driving a stolen car
while she's drunkenly walking home from a bar.
They'll ask
where were the parents
where was the mother
did he partake in it too
...her other brother?
It's compelling
your childhood dwelling
and it's propelling my retelling
because, yes, why does her face keep swelling?
Guess Big Brother,
there is no telling.
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