While
in the fetal position
I
strangled my inner child.
I
put my hands around its
Insufferable
neck and choked
The
life out of’ its crying jag
Of
a little body.
And
I know you never trusted me,
I
knew it right from the very start.
It
had everything to do with the
Way
you looked at me so ruefully
Like
I was a puzzle you could not
Quite
figure out.
I’ve
never been able to stomach the
Academic
sludge passed off as poetry
Because
words are more than just a way
To
pad your low self-esteem. I’ve had it
Up
to here with the posers who don’t understand
That
suffering is not an art form and martyrdom
Is
not a well-honed skill like karate or belly dancing.
My
inner child kept telling me everything would be
Alright
when nothing could have been further from
The
God stained, bloody stool truth. And you didn’t
Help
matters when you pretended a connection existed
When
nothing but lies and more lies were present when
We
spooned like two cartoon mutts.
I
cannot be trusted. It’s been that way since being born in a fog of war.
And
yes it’s true I’ve become that old man yelling at the neighborhood kids
To
get off his lawn because I’ve become addicted to swallowing bitter pills.
And
have grown tired of this game of denial I continue playing like Russian
Roulette
except I’m not Johnny Ace and the bullets refuse to exit the chamber
And
blow my brains all over the eggshell colored walls.
Charles Cicirella
8/22/16
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