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There’s a war in my heart
a war in my head
at night as I sleep
at war
in the bed
I’ve made
like the maid
towel swan, chocolates
convincing myself
that this war, it could end
if I only fought, as hard as my bite
perhaps than I could
sleep through the night
with or without, this war in my head
there is war in my heart
that will burn till I’m dead.
If you’re not ready to let go,
then don’t.
Hold on as long as you need,
and then some.
These are words I’d say,
to an unborn son.
If it seems repetitive,
that’s good.
If it hurts in a hundred different ways,
it’s supposed to.
If you don’t want to smile,
let them see you frown.
These are the words,
I’d say.
Does it get easier,
at times.
Should you forget,
never.
Is it your fault,
no.
The words I’d say are these.
Life will kick your ass.
Love will break your heart.
Death will drug your senses.
With the strength of a mother’s love,
I would say.
You are your father’s child,
but make no mistake,
you are not your father.
In short,
a postmodern peanut gallery,
with the heart of a tornado.
As senseless as a bullet.
As an AK-47.
As war.
Typical of man’s creation.
Words Of An Average White Male 