Drinking from the Firehose


Missy cat sleeping on the bed.
I sit up, squeezing my head.
Eyes jolt open to see red.
“I’m alive” is what she said.
Only living cause I got fed.

It’s his twenty-seventh year.
Sure, I’ll toast another beer.
Too much ringing in my ear.
So much pain inside fear.
So much strength in a tear.
Can’t remember how I got here.

So rock on.  Rock long.  Rock on.

Just an hour away.
But it takes him all day.
“I love you,” he’ll say.
Too bad The Spy couldn’t stay.
She just wanted to play.
I’ve chosen not to be gay.
(At least for today.)

Kiss me on my freckled face.
All alone there’s too much space.
Do you think we’ll ever find our place?
In the country I still hold mace.
Rev your engine, I want to race.

So rock on.  Rock long.  Rock on.

Junkie-ass piece of shit.
Stupid boy who couldn’t quit.
Never knew, no need to fit.
Always wanted one more hit.
I think I saw when he got bit.

They say they want to keep it real.
But they know it hurts to feel.
Sometimes, you know, our wounds don’t heal.
You’ve gotta play the hand they deal.
Empty words can’t make a meal.
I’d rather starve than learn to steal.

So rock on.  Rock long.  Rock on.



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2 Responses to Drinking from the Firehose

  1. Justine says:

    this fucking rocks! I love it! and you. 🙂

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