12.25-12.31: Weary

The western port that served oil boys and chainsmokers
From different times and faraway places
Also served folks like me
Who won’t believe in Jesus
And daydream of cocaine and halos.
Ricky, whose father was killed by the dragon he slayed,
Feared no mortal man,
And suggest I do the same. 

He didn’t stop me from walking slowly
Through the prison—the trap—taking my time,
Listening to the Devil whisper and rant.
He claimed to beat the Church in a jungle
While I stitched up my hand from the broken beer bottle
I busted over the head of the man who called me a boy.
I think I’m okay, so I leap from another building
Back to the beat down body of a son of a bitch.
Climb aboard or swim to shore?
I grab the Devil’s hand, whisper Crockett’s prayer,
And peak back at the wrong side of the church door.

The months that followed while living in Wonderland, 
Fighting the giants and enjoying the party,
Were halted by God’s Whisper calling my name.
I had read all the bad news,
But that night, at 5, I met a bright blue-eyed beauty
Who tasted like candy and tightened my loose screws.

I asked her to come down here with me
Stating there’s no reason for a star to be afraid of the dark.
But this woman saved my life,
Proclaiming I didn’t need nobody to take me out
Of the hole I found myself in.
I took the scenic route to her butter-flavored kisses
And fell in love in the back of her van.

We were cowards,
But I would bet it all that even bitter cocaine
Couldn’t tear me from this new addiction.
While we inherit the sins of our parents,
You, the Han Solo to my Chewbacca,
Would only love me the same.
It’s all love, like prom night.
May I have this dance till the end?

It wouldn’t be long until the Devil hit his second stride,
Breaking your love I loved to hide behind
And turning it to hate, shoving middle fingers in the air.
The smoke and mirrors he presented before you got the best of me;
I, your favorite liar, didn’t know how I was feeling.
Only sirens through the windshield alerted me of my allergies to you.
Hate me when I’m gone,
But this was not for nothing.

When I was looking at her beneath the blood moon,
All I could see was you. Darling, you were there.
Not long after I learned I couldn’t mirror your face,
Redemption called for me, like a bandit running loose.
I cringed thinking about the woman I messed up,
Wrapped in white linen.
These lovesick instincts drove me
To sing a beggar’s song you had never heard:
“Don’t leave, it’s my fault.”

To this day I sing, never hearing your reply.
I will be here, in the same place, when I’m eighty-three
Outside your front door with black balloons.
A little bird will sometimes land and spend time in a nearby tree,
Whistling to the sky and the land and the sea.
One day it won’t come back but, instead,
Fly to the stars like letters to God
Asking if man is only here to replicate and eat fruit.
I wish I knew then what I know now—
Everything will be alright if you let go—
Instead of waiting on a resurrection of sorts.
I whisper one more chorus before I leave.
When will I return?
Alas,
I don’t know.

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