I can't seem to relax.
  At night my bed's on fire.
  My brain is crawling with
  Armageddon spiders and
  society is choosing sides
  hate is everywhere and my
  friends are nowhere, man! I
  know better and I need sleep
  give me shelter in your arms
  or blindfold me on your wall.

Time doesn't even exist.
  We created the concept
to measure our decay.
  Change. Birth to Death time.
  Worlds begin and end time.
  Get ready for our date time.
  Wedding set for noon time.
  Pregnancy can happen anytime.
  Birth always happens at 2 am.
  Kids to emergency at 3 am.
  Bury the dead in the morning.
  Mourning goes on until 3 pm
  suicide in an afternoon bath,
  just prisoners biding time.

He found my need and fed it.
I'm an empty vessel in a shroud.
A thousand ****** kept me calm.
I died for you to make you proud.

I'm just another trophy to make
me lifelike with glass blue eyes
convincing color of the skin and I
promise I'll keep safe all the lies.

I've been out hunting souls.
I need to fill so many holes.
Sleep upon God's holy altar.
I'll spare the first daughter.

We sit in church basements on
folding chairs drinking bad coffee
with shaking bones and shame in our eyes.
I'm Joe and I'm an alcoholic. Hi, Joe!
Christmas eve. Presents wrapped under
the tree. A fire in the hearth. Kids are all
smiles and best behavior. We toast the
scene again and again until it clicks in me.
I'm a terrible monster full of rage and
I'll never know why. I roar and throw
all the presents in the fire with my life.
I will only be us as me and a bottle.

I was desperately drunk and desperately in love.
    I made promises I couldn't keep. She invited me
    into her garden. I ate forbidden fruit. Nirvana!
    Pains, doubts, anxieties, fears gone instantly.

    The morning after had a sour taste.
    God and priest and nun and catholic world
    collided with our promised land of love.
    We stayed drugged with flesh and defiance.

    Pregnant, we were married in the Church.
    We had our daughter and a son soon after.
    I wish lust didn't fade with time.
    I wandered and became a cliche.

I'm a beat up old dog.
My name is Buster.
I think I'm 84 in your years.
I have stories would curl your toes!
I've had good luck and bad.
I've been with lovely *******
and ******* from hell.
I limp from a go cart incident
but I refuse to let it define me.
I've known cruelty and kindness.
I hope for a painless death
and fair judgement in the end.