Wednesday, March 25, 2015


These words are not meant as an escape, stained glass window or glass half full.
They’re just words. Something to lean on or rely upon for the time being.
And I know I hurt you. And I know I hurt myself, but that’s oftentimes the way it is when responsibility is a fleeting notion and hanging out only leads to a bad hangover the next morning.

The priest asked if I was penitent and all I could think was how did I end up in this small box copping to shit I never had any intention of confessing to in the first place.
I wish you would talk to me instead of instantly shutting down at the first sign of an emotion you’re not comfortable making eye contact with.
Drink the coffee like its arsenic. Wear the old lace like it’s a bulletproof vest and never forget I loved you when you were broken and I will love you if and when you are fixed.

I’ve never been repentant. Maybe it’s all the guilt I’ve had to process from the very beginning when I was a pudgy, freckled, red haired momma’s boy to the present day when I’m becoming a curmudgeon of a man staring down my mortality and praying to God all these prophecies are not self-fulfilling.
We begin with Genesis and end with the Book of Revelation and in the middle there’s plenty of bloodletting and bloodlust and more excuses to spill blood than you can shake a stick at.
According to Hollywood Jesus either looks like Jeffrey Hunter or Willem Dafoe, but either way I will never accept that Judas Iscariot looked anything like Harvey Keitel.

These words are not meant as a way in or for that matter a way out. I started writing when the words appeared in my brainpan and I figured it best that I do something with them. 
It was never my intention to deliver some heavy handed crusade or bring about some kind of movement with all of these consonants and vowels twisted and shaped into soft pretzels of illogic and misappropriated mustard seeds of Count Chocula faith.
I am so sick and tired of trust fund babies telling me to get my life together when it has been clear from the outset one person’s answers are another person’s problems and never shall the twain meet. I was looking for a drinking buddy not a life coach when we hooked up so either pick up the bottle and take a drink or don’t let the door hit you on the way out. I’m not sorry in the least little bit and I’ve hardly gotten started expressing to you how disappointed I am with your Teflon Stonehenge comportment. I cannot get over how you kept bogarting the joint when it was passed to you and I’ll never forgive you for actually believing I needed help. Fuck you and the white horse you rode in on. Fuck you and the smack you OD’d on. Just fuck you.

Charles Cicirella

No comments: