Welcome to My life in the shadows



 
THE KILLING FIELDS
 
The heart is a beating drum
When Mr. Fear comes to town with a vengeance
Like a Sunday caller playing with salt
And he is willing to trade a child’s future for An ounce of lust
And you become lost in a world
Where no one wants to believe you, but an old bag lady
Who was somewhat top heavy and out
Selling yellow # 2 pencils in the streets, three for a dime.
These are the times
That cannot be lost in the background noise.
 The times when you learn to keep your head down
Admitting to nothing
That might question your pledge to boyhood;
And the whole time the sunlight cries from within you
For the aid of someone else, but not so loudly
As to actually be heard.
Because you cannot trust just anyone now,
And just anyone cannot help you,
Because there are so many who must never know
If you are to ever hold your head up in school again.
So when at long last someone does come along
Who is strong enough and who is wise enough
You just don’t give a damn who, or what they are.
The choice now is of bone or dust,
Because you have lost all trust
Because you have no place left to turn
In a world filled with inverted smiles
All of which, you think, wants to laugh at you
And point fingers at you.
This is when you become lost
Within a whisper,
Lost within a bottle,
Or in some dirty old needle
Where you think you want to live forever
(as short as that can possibly be)
You think
Because in there,
In the bottle and in the needle
No one can hurt you
Any more than you’re hurting yourself,
Always
Trying to protect that scarred little shit
You left crying on the bathroom floor all those years ago,
Trying to hide
In the shadow of his fears
And you just want the thought of him ripped out of you…Dead and gone.
 
Winter 1961
 
uTAH jAY
 


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THE KILLING FIELDS