I listened to a song that reminded me of my mother today,
but also that reminded me of me,
but also made me think of Sydney
though I won't talk about that,
I suggest listening to it.
Or simply looking at the lyrics.
White Trash Beautiful by Everlast.
I say that it reminds me of my mother, but it
mostly reminds me of my childhood.
Childhood car rides,
specifically from home,
maybe late at night.
She played things like this
and Metallica,
I was raised on everything, really.
I was raised on the musical staff.
When I was younger,
9 was late
so the stars and trees and clouds and world that passed by
so quick at night when I was sure
a monster would swallow our car
seemed to simply protect us
and the thumping of the stereo,
her hard, glazed over eyes locking on the road in front of us,
I dozed in and out of consciousness.
the song.
reminded me of the way people release their issues
in the music that they make
or that they listen to.
My mother drowned out her
failing marriage
drug addictions
and her mental illnesses
and me
and everything else,
with music
and alcohol
and more drugs
and more men, the kind that
couldn't keep their hands to themselves
those kinds of men.
There were songs by Everlast that just
made sense
to her
and I never
really
understood, I mean, I
was as a toddler, why would I?
I had too much going on in my kid mind,
I'm sure.
but I get it so much now.
I also recommend
What it's like which is also by Everlast
Because I get that, too, more than
I think
most.
the song
I was talking about first
isn't supposed to be bad, right
I think it's mostly the music
that reminds me of my mother-
of my childhood with my mother.
I try not to think
about things like that too much.
but I promised to try and start opening up more.

all your lovers of summer whisper soundlessly
against my collared [owned]
existence.
airy spirits of longing sleep
unseen by anyone
except me,
and yet these
flickers of response aren't
noticeable.
I?
desolate and weak.
my heart remains and feels the sight
like an eternity of bleach down my throat
or glass in my eyes
or fingernails ripped
or neck broke
or burn marks
or bites
or the Judas Cradle
or the Blood Angel
or the Swedish Drink
or White Torture
or disembowelment
or Scaphism
except worse.
The thoughts are whirlwinds,
or maybe whirlpools
because I'm drowning
in the same way that you drown me out.