My Beautiful Suffering

Last night I drove on down – down to Siren Town to the accident scene – you were there my suffering – looking as beautiful as when we first met – when I let you inside me, deride me – made my blood and bones your home – believed you when you said you only needed a place to say for a few days – but how things changed, deranged – and there you were my beautiful suffering – last night down in Siren Town at the accident scene – looking like a dream bathed in moonlight as you kneeled beside my chalk outline – you wrapped me in a shroud of my Scorpio star cloud – turned your voice up loud – and said my eyes were windows – yes – that you could jump out of again, again, again – and the way you said my name – like a big old punch in the face – high-octane mean, gargling with gasoline – your smile a gunpowder sunflower blowing me to pieces at the witching hour – yeah that's why I'm ready to get rid of you – ship you off to Club Dread – or better yet, have you go suck some eternal sleep from the shotgun barrel of death – cause I'm tired of granting you immunity – impunity from all my crimes – yeah I've done my time – I've spent way too long imitating the way your body speaks – it's the shaking of plate tectonics – the combined phonics of Mother Nature and destruction – but that's how you loved me – shoved me – couldn't get enough of me – and even though I've eaten enough of your pills to make my mind go satellite – it's all right – cause right now I've got both feet on the ground – yea somewhere bells turn themselves inside out to imitate this sound – the sound of my voice – my breathing – me finally being alive – yea right now, my beautiful suffering, I don't need your help in counting all the monkeys around me to know evolution ain't what it used to be – but that's okay – cause I can swing through the trees with the best of them – the rest of them – I can devolve – revolve around all your fiery planets out in deep deep space – the place where gravity has left me – and weightlessness is a beautiful dark-eyed girl named Maria – yeah how she caresses me – blesses me with super nova novenas light years from you, my beautiful suffering – yeah your love hole's gone black hole – your lasers gone razor – out in that deoxygenated dark –it ain't a lark the way you press against me skin against skin – sin against sin – you know secrets I've never breathed to another soul – you know my every blunder – shadow me harder than a social security number – and even though there were nights I'd run my hands down your back to read the bones of your spine like Chinese characters – right now there ain't nothing you can do or say to make me want you anymore – yeah you and your soap opera dramatics – it's tragic – reeks so bad I gotta hold my nose – cause your mothball gossip's stinking up my clothes – made everything I'd eat – even the air I'd breathe taste as bad as combat-boot stew – lousy as mail-order kung fu – then there was nothing left to do – couldn't protect myself – was nothing but a magnet for machine guns and mace – didn't have a trace of good karma – more like the dharma of detritus – a phlebitis of mumbledom and doubletalk granting me a dual masters degree in demonology and dental floss – yeah for a while there things got pretty black – far more annoying than beach sand up my butt crack – and now it's all got me way past mad – the Jurassic spark to set off some murderous blast – so let the Eternal Deejay drop the needle down onto our whack-attack tracks as I try to relax – cause what I've finally learned is that when we the living sing – it's okay to be a bit off-key – cause our blood and bones can bare the dissonance – are you listening to me my beautiful suffering – Cause right now I don't need to be wall-to-wall Sodium Penethol to tell you the truth – and even though you may think it uncouth – you're nothing but the dagger that stabbed Caesar – puppy love gone geezer – a hookah jukebox run dry – superstition morticians – a guitar that does nothing but cry – malarial tambourines ringing out the song of sick-ass dynamite – David Berkowitz, Mary Bell, the Schizophrenic Firesetter all rolled up tight – B'BAM! – a lifetime of Mondays and rain – a bullet in the brain – a bullet train barreling into a dead-end station – a one-way conversation – and right about now, my beautiful suffering, I'm feeling sick and tired of talking to myself