Your alcoholic father died
when the vessels in his throat, they capsized,
and drowned him in blood, his own.
And so your despondent mother tried
to fill in all the gaping holes in her life
with escalating addictions alone.
You left home when you turned sixteen
with some people you met and admired,
because they denied the vices that plagued your home.
But their aggressive stance began to seem
an abusive form unto itself so you took flight.
You hitchhiked out of the city alone.
You tell me what you've seen,
you imply the in betweens,
you leave searing red ellipses at the end.
You think that we won't understand.
Yeah, we'll never understand.
But we can think we'll understand, we won't.
We won't.
And now you wake as dusk creeps in
and strip off all your filthy clothes,
stained with wine, you take them to a laundromat far from home.
You'll watch rows of gleaming machines spin
but cycles of another sort don't touch your mind.
They're communicated through blood, your own.
You tell me what you've seen,
you imply the in betweens,
and leave searing red ellipses at the end.
You say that we can'y understand.
Oh, but we'll never understand.
But if you think that, well, then, yeah. we won't.
We won't.