Forty-Two

I was born broken

Learning bit by bit how the world will fail

Beyond my comprehension at forty two

I wonder how malevolence still enthralls me,

 

Like a child breathing his last breath

as a soldier trying to forget

maybe the mindless who never forgot

42 the answer no one ever regrets

 

Dreaming of a simple minded child playing in the snow

where the mud running thru his hands is just a simple, simple show

 

All your taught and expect is a loving family, Farther, mother and the kids they had

out of spite, they're are demons in all our paths 42 to of them to be exact

The father you adored, the brother who had your back

even your mother who caressed u gently in the psych ward,

What a gentle breath

 

Where is the petulance, the hatred, the will to call it quits?

I am sure at forty-two it has always been there calling out to us

as the willing kid in church to bear the cross, which none of the believers ever did.

All I wanted was to live this, a dream, oh you silly simple child

 

Broken,on a pedestal.

Abused in front an adoring crowd.

Tortured with infamy.

In your anonymity you became being a star.

 

With 42 edges and each of those bearing your scars.