Scars

I cut my thumb with a Coke can
Healed with a dash of salt, dash of sand
I didn’t cry, weep or squeal
Didn’t rape or kill or steal
Talking to God, I’d make a plan
To make that pain not come again

In the winter, ice grows cold
It’d melt if it knew the things I know
Boil or break, maybe mold
Then the pain starts to grow
Scars of my forgotten childhood
Talking to God, I’d make a plan. I would.

Then the summer passes by
Driving off, Mother cries
In your thumb, a slow twinkle
In a bar, you start to mingle
Cold and tired, maybe damp
Caress the flesh of a vamp

Then the summer passes by
Driving off, your wife cries
I didn’t cry, weep or squeal
Hope that Jesus takes the wheel

Scars of my forgotten childhood
Talking to God, I’d make a plan
I would.

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About OnlyAlexB

Stuff, etc.

Posted on May 24, 2012, in Poems. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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