My mother's father Gramps
was a fallen woman's champ.
Amusing drunk wicked smile
he had his fancy bow tie style.
French and sniffing all about
sows seeds of grandson doubt?
Truth with age revealed a fact.
He was just a cheap carnival act.

There a cuckoo clock on the wall,
I was a kid curious how it worked.
Gramps told me not to touch it.
I moved the chain and it crashed
and broke the cheap lamp below.
That **** destroyed me entirely.
He went from a hero to zero
his hangover destroyed us.

I married a 10 who's now a 4.
What is to become of our bed?
Once we broke them to the floor
now they last forever instead.

Is God a friend or foe?
Is heaven or hell fun?
Are we born into
lives already lived?
Did Cirque du Soleil
create *** escapades?
What is this family?
Why are we? When are we?
Who're my head voices?  
Do we have any choices?

Let me be an honest beast
when we eat an angry feast
of girls begging for pleasure
pirates can't resist treasure.

I pour gasoline on me and
my poems and set on fire.
Words burned funeral pyre.
Ashes are all left of desire.

I took her cans to the curb
both the recycled and waste.
I tried quiet to not disturb,
she would know I'm *******.