thanks, bitches

Que interesante
That bosque
That held me captive so long
Oh, invented screenplay of torture
That I clung to like a Hollywood hoodrat
Who made the move too soon
I chose pain like the fat line up for fried bread at the buffet
Heaved my own bereavement onto my plate
Like it was limited supply
And no one made me do it
Why’d I live under those thumbs for so long?
Cramped and smelling of whores’ tears, and their assholes
I’m a bird now,
Winning marathons with prosthetic wings
Getting all the coos
And shitting on your new Mercedes
I give thanks for this scar tissue now
For it renders the Kleenex most obsolete
I’d hate you all, but I can’t, because you killed the version of me
I could never seem to snuff
And now my present is silver, my future is gold
I can see it hanging in the balance like fresh bananas in the tropics
Or a dream so good I won’t let myself have it.