Oh, mother, my bones ache and my muscles tire
My vessel is young; yet fleeting and failing
My soul has long since aged and been lost to the years
I am ready to sleep and find peace in the night
With every step my knees buckle under the weight of this journey

Oh, mother, your son is begging for your blessing
Let me wander no longer through this perilous realm
Allow me to fall into memory, to fade with the wind

Oh, mother, you brought this body into this world, with your tender love and care
But it is in this body that my despairing soul is ensnared

Oh, mother, give me your permission to concede from this quest
I beg of you, dear mother, let me lay down to rest

Lying on clouds
The morning sun bathing my skin
I smell you all around
I feel your soft skin up against mine
I brush my hands against you
My body aches for you
I pull you in closer
You press that magnificent *** against me
I groan low, and nuzzle your neck
I kiss your cheek and gently say “good morning beautiful” as my hand moves up your thigh.

I awake to the sound of my own voice.

Instead of clouds I’m laying on a thin slab of foam that makes up this futon.
The sun is beating down on me, leaving no shadow for my shame to hide.
The room smells like a full ashtray and stale beer.
I reach over for you but I only find an endless sea of empty space.
I roll onto my back, my body aches and my joints crack.
I extend my calloused, unwashed hand out to a half empty glass of bourbon.
Maybe this will help me get back to that dream of you.

But I can chase this ***** as long as I want, I’ll never catch up to you.

And you’re never coming back.

“I can’t wait to never see you again.”

I thought, before I noticed your bed was empty and your car gone.

Wondering where you’d gone this time, and wishing you’d come home.

So I could beg you to leave.

You’ve been gone all weekend, probably with your new man.
As to why I’m sitting here waiting, I’ll never understand.

I cleaned the house.
Scrubbed the toilets.
I even made you dinner.
And you couldn’t care less.

How good was it, that you’re still not home this late on a Sunday?
I just want you to notice.
I just want to  be seen, like “check out the porcelain, that’s quite a sheen!”

I want to go back to my old friends, a tall bottle and my knife.
I want to feel the burning of the liquor, and the cold of the steel.
I want to make manifest the pain you cause me, so I can feel something real.

Less than a six pack and surely I’d be ready for the noose.
The tree out back should be sturdy enough.
My limbs would lie steady, before the tree’s would come loose.

Will you let my loved ones have my things?
Would you come to my funeral?
Would you spit out my name in front of your new lovers door; and forget my existence, now and evermore?

Teach me how to care less. How to be cunning, conniving and cold.  
So I can take this knife to my throat, without seeing my mother’s face.
Teach me how to care less.
So I can bleed out on our floors, like a worthless disgrace.

If I let it all go, and find myself in hell.
Just know that I’ll be waiting.

When years have passed and you’ve forgotten my name.
When you’ve moved on to new lovers and abandoned them; all the same.

When you’re tired and lonely and old and dying.
When your calloused, poisoned heart finally gives out.

I will claw my way through the wastes.
Past tormented souls and demons too, nothing will stop me hunting for you.

And as you stand at the edge, waiting for the boatman.
I will reach up from the depths, and drown you in the river styx.

I ******* hate you.