Schmooze control

I should cleave each word with an axe and burn it. Half asleep at the wheel. Not drunk but on snooze control. I find my own way home as my life goes whispering by. Not a scratch on me.

As a child, I was always waiting for something. A dog, a bike, to grow older, to smoke, to get a girlfriend and feel her tits. Passionately, waiting for something to happen. On the edge of things in my undoggy life. I never forgot how nothing ever happened. How everyone turned away. How I disappeared into a life like a boy that fell into the sky.

Ungrown men weep and grope for a hand. Tell another lie about it not being long now. Resume the compulsory charade of the deaf and dumb. Nod my head like an old horse harrowing my past as dynasties pass. The Queen comes to the throne. Sure I’ll die before the story ends, because that’s how it always ends as it creaks and unbends. You’re a big boy now they’ll say. Happy ever after.

Straightaway there’s no comfort and I slip through the cracks. That’s what happened then. In the war against poverty that never ends. While we waited for the miraculous birth of kindness and a soft touch. A soft spot to see out our days when the torturer went home in his fancy car to his wife and kids. Pink roses untouched in the garden.

He marked our card. Not an important failure. Not a failure at all. I got to help him with his needs and deeds. White legs of the other boys disappearing into themselves. One flower left to break and that would be us done. Won’t take long. The indescribable pleasure of fucking someone up. You don’t know you’ve been born. We approached the last chance, like so many others. Something that had to be done.

It was a Monday. We defeated the enemy by growing up. Being realistic and pacifistic and poring over our wrongs and thanking Jesus. We didn’t want to be shrieking and swearing and acting up in public places or smart bars. Twitching and stumbling. Gums, teeth and lips that have lost their grip. The white coat with butterfly clips at the back. How great thou art. How great thou art. The old codger that seemed not to hear. Winked at the torturer. Beyond the biscuit factory. Beyond the road, the river and town, with slits in the bars, the shrieking followed.

A new set of jaw-jaws to swallow you down. You learned to prance and a new St Vitus Dance. Your arms go crazy and legs get mad. Come back again if you want some more as twenty years pass and they sweep you out the door, with a wink and a nod and a  hey ho. Away you go. A continuous cull cure for higher costs.

In floundering dreams he plunges into me still. I’m falling out of the sky. Every jolt, the blood of the lamb will save me. His bloodshot eyes. The blood of the lamb. His hanging face. Me crucified. I hear his voice. Won’t be long. Choking. Drowning. Won’t be long now. Keep still you little bastard.  You’re vile. A helpless sight. You just can’t help yourself. Get dressed. Cover yourself up. Clean yourself up. Wipe the blood away. Look how clumsy you are. Don’t walk like that. Knock-kneed. And if I ever hear you talking like that, you’ll know all about it. Our little secret. Ecstasy of fumbling. You’ll learn the hard way. Cause you like it. You really do. Look at your face smirking. I know what you need. You little cunt. You make me. You little poof. Swallow my cock.  

The devil’s sick of sin, but Jesus won’t let me in. In the dark times my brain stopped. I read a letter. But there was nothing in my head to read it with. It said all the words. My thoughts were all there. Waiting to fly up. Light up inside me like a Roman candle. A payment of compensation for what we’d done, for what I’d become. No longer a happy boy. No longer a hero. No longer young. And couldn’t remember my mum. No family to take the letter from me. Touch my arm and cuddle me. Ssshhhhhhhhh and tell me it’ll be alright. You little cock sucker.