House on fire,
House on fire,
Role me a phat one.
Tonite the house ,
Tomorow nites up in smoke.
The walls were brown
Wall paper.  
Upinside here.
A white beard of smoke.
Goblin green walls,
Purple stains,
Scattered gold vains.
What a joke
We felt like smoked out
Hot patatoes,
I sat on my missing phone.
*******,
Coconut musics third encore.
Remember what you said.
I said sometimes say the truest things.
Remember what you said.
You become what you love.
He needs help.
He doesnt know,
What isnt his own.
Isnt my best friend,
Starting to bun out,
My bic lighter,
Is out.
My hands strike a match,
Is it so much to ask.
There were so many clicks.
Jump up or something
Else happened
To apear
Just to gorge
On your ptsd
Like the memory
of seing your last horror film.
You left angry,
And told us repeatingly.
I need help
tell us what we can do.
Help us tell you and
You can  show us
whose fault it was
I told you not to let anybody
do what they did.  
What is it worth
doing all over again.
All the reconziliation
Speeds off with ten dollars
In gas money.  
Did you know
What to do
after one interview
In a shrinks office.
Your inner thoughts
have to record
everything.  
And for a few seconds
Every thing pushing
towards her garage.
Found a place upwards
in new hours slowly
able to erase the dust tic by tic.
Now we can start counting
Episodes you had.
Nowe we can understand what you have
And by december you will have the best christmas
Your peace on earth will be seeing a baby boy cry
When it snows.

First there is the prep.
The roommate.
Wearing salmon colored pants.  
He has Shaggy from ****** Doo
On his left thigh.
The alcoholic.
She has a drinking problem.
She is in denial of her drinking problem.
She hangs out with the loners.
The loners.
Unkempt, unattractive and fat in all the wrong places.
The blond looks like Tom Petty.
The one with dark hair, glasses and braces
They live next door.
Living together but segregated. 
Wild cards.
All of us.

©Gambit '13

miracle workers, they are
tiny capsules full of healing
some would find it strange
that such a gift
can be reversed into such a deadly item
an item of escape
but also an item that is strongly relied on
by everyone who seeks out help
but also the ones whose help never seems to come
the ones who tried but eventually caved in
the ones who relied on the pills to take away the pain
forever, not temporary
the ones who finished the bottle; collapsed on the floor
planning to never see the light of this cruel world
with their own empty irises again
to be awakened
surrounded by doctors
unconsciously hearing,
"we managed to flush the pills"
"she/he is safe for now"
they'll diagnose you as depressed & suicidal
as if it wasn't obvious before
then they'll prescribe anti-depressants
which I find is a huge contradiction
that you give a person who doesn't want to live in this broken world

just another escape out of here.
a.c.