I remember staring at the ceiling
listening to Schindler's list in the dark.
We were two orphans
sleeping with our poor lost mother
who couldn't pull herself together
for her two orphan children.
The only lullaby she knew
was her own depression.

I remember how the music scared me
worse than nightmares
and I lay close to you imagining
the great train
carting off lost mothers
and orphan sisters.

Our poor mother turn child
sneaking into bed with her orphan daughters
to escape the wisps of nightmares.
The music,
filled with so much sorrow and pain
was too much for ones so young.

I'm so sorry sister,
We really should never have listened.

The private gun salesman
divine savior of our life,
liberty, and pursuit of happiness!
Washes his own hands
of the matter,
he has no need for Mary Magdalene,
divine *******, hippie.
Arms outstretched
he sacrifices his own collection
(for a sum of course)
for the anonymous benefit
of a person who
"seems alright".
They aren't Mexican or Black after all!
Or God forbid, Indian!
What would we do
without that Just defender?
Our private gun salesman,
divine savior of America.

Imagine,
Just for a moment,
That Eve had a daughter
Before the desert.
And,
Remaining pure,
She was left behind,
The sole tenant of that holy garden.
Retaining her creation-day innocence,
She is imprisoned
by her eternal perfection.
Naked, pure,
she is a ghost
haunting heaven.

When I start to forgive you,
This is what I will think about.

I won't think of your laugh,
Our talks, or our jokes.
I won't think of how
you pretended to defend me,
Or how much I loved you.
I will not remember the theme parks,
The movies, or the gifts.
I won't think about our long road trips,
I won't think about all the things you taught me,
All the gentle words you hissed like a snake.
I will not think of how you used to be Father.

I will think, instead of how much you hurt me.
Of the bruises you left on me,
On us, the one's you turned against
And left behind.
I will remember how you threw me to the wolves.
I will think about your hands on me,
In the pretense of play,
And of how sick they made me.
I will think of all that you ruined,
Of how happy I was when you died,
When it was finally over.

You may haunt me all my life,
But I never want to forget how much
I hate you.
I never want to give your spirit
A single moment's peace.
You've been my nightmare long enough,
It's time that I was yours.

In my grandparent’s house
There are stacks of
National Geographic magazines.
Next to the couch,
In the bathroom,
So that
From the porcelain throne,
You can travel the wide world,
Stepping into the shoes
Of some great explorer
In the time it takes you
To ****.

Civilizations come and go,
and what is an empire
will one day be ruins.
Our moments are fleeting,
and will one day be forgotten.
What we fought for,
bled for, died for,
will one day lose all meaning

Future societies and new civilizations
will one day laugh at our absurd efforts.
They will ask,
where it all led?
From dust,
back to dust.
Is this pessimism?
Or is it truth?

Is it objective thinking,
refusing to believe that
we are anything substantial?
America, England, China,
one day will fall and be counted among the ranks of
Babylon, Petra, Atlantis.
So far lost, mating with myth,
losing all truth.

One day they will laugh at our irrelevancy.
For civilizations come and go,
and what is an empire
will one day be ruins.

Tossed about, spinning.
Lights, noises, sensations,
all blending together.
Night air kissing my face,
warm bodies pressing close.
Static, vibrating energy
bringing me to life.
Young and free and weightless,
running, breathing, laughing,
this is how we exist.
Clasped hands, flying carpets,
a silver unicorn dancing on a chain.
Together forever in this moment.
This is how we live.