Mom

Mad. Crazy. Insane.
It’s all the same.
You’re enraged.
You’re in pain.
You’re trapped in chains.
You can’t remember your own name
or the last time you came
inside a bitch
but you don’t give a shit.
You’ve got an itch
To prove that you’re not ashamed.
That you can’t be tamed.
That you’re anything but mundane.
But all you do is bring pain
to everyone around you.

They say you’re sick.
It’s not your fault, it’s just a tick,
That you’re just not fit
to exist
in this crazy world in which
we try to find our niche
You can’t be fixed.
They say you have a chemical imbalance
That you’re challenged.
That it’s OK if I come home to find you hanging from a curtain valance.
But to me, you’re a waste of talent.
You’ve taken too many hits
and something isn’t right inside your tits.
Your heart is black, I’ve got the shits and zits from all this stress,
I can’t try and save you.

So here we are:
you’re broken and I’m breaking.
I’m tired of faking.
I’m tired of making
you try to believe in yourself,
Of violently shaking
you awake,
just to make
sure you’re alive
Tired of taking
time out of my day to prove that there is something worth living for.
Maybe your life is as poor
as you try and explain.
Maybe you should close the door
Be left to flail on the floor.
I’ll be here raking up the pieces of your life you leave behind.
When you’re gone, I’ll carry on, deciding right over wrong,
Just like you taught me.