your fault

i can barely remember it, but its in there. i remember my father calling me names when i did wrong when i was a kid. he called me names when he was angry. he would say "get outa there you little bastard. what the hell is wrong with you." sometimes i was a "son of a bitch." i remember the venom these words had and how they made me feel as a child. i felt unsafe, i felt like no one had my best interest in mind. this feeling has stayed with my into adult hood. i remember being told "quit crying or i'll give you something to cry about." my violent father who made me a violent person. i am angry with him for not having the sense enough to rise above his meager upbringings, for falling into the same traps that his parents did. 

he failed himself long before he failed me, and then he went and got married and had some kids. what the fuck was he even thinking? why did he think he could be any kind of father? the level of selfishness in this man is astounding to me. the fact that i ever called him father is disgusting to me now. he was never any father to me. i was in his way and a disappointment at every turn. it was my fault that he bore a son that was a complete opposite to him. i didn't like cars, or beer, or oil, or mechanic work. i didn't like cutting wood in a forest, and helping him out by basically being a slave. it was my fault in his mind. in my mind, he was a coward. he was a selfish coward who had no business ever having any children before he took care of the darkness in his own heart. he was just another fuck up flunky that didn't have the courage to think about the consequences of having a child, and i am the result of all that. i reject them. i am distancing myself from them because they are wretched fools who have done nothing but scar me and hurt me for my entire life. stupid people are dangerous and it doesn't get much more stupid than them. 

its been years since i've seen either of them and i can't get enough of years in between us to make the nerve less raw. 

the good times are dead inside my mind

im not content with just the memories

they just get tainted when one sells the other out

all that rapture

ends up in fractures

and all the love you make

just turns into a burn in your gut

can't wash you out

when i feel used

like loosing a finger

and having to live with it the rest of your life

i block out every memory

cause all the good times mean pain and regret

so i don't think about you

i don't think about it

cause i'll just end in a place that i don't want to be

pulling glass from my knuckles

another scar i don't even remember how i got

inside the walls of me

like bunkers in the mountains

twenty foot thick steel doors 

with locks that could survive a nuclear blast

my defenses

render your attempts senseless

and inside my fortress of a chest cavity

there is rot

there is pieces of my emotions

murdered and dissected

turned inside out and thrown around this husk

and my heart is kept at gun point

where if it moves the wrong way

we'll pull the trigger

and send that cunt back to allah

Back door

 On the weekends

I go and flirt with god

I go into a trance and ascend to the higher realm

And I visit with god 

I am convinced it is in my imagination

But it swears it is real

I lay down in its grace

And feel love like ive never felt in the real world. 

It strokes my hair and calms me down

It eases all my sorrows

But I always have to leave it in the end

No one is supposed to know the back doors to gods house 

But I do

It doesn't scold me or tell me I'm not supposed to be there

It just loves me and showers me with good feelings

The whole time trying to convince me to believe

To have faith and carry my faith with me

But I just tell it to hush

Cause I am imagining all of this

And god is only in my head

It says, "then why do you keep coming here if you don't believe in me"

I say, "cause this is better than reality"

God tells me I am being stubborn

That I have more proof than anyone

Yet I choose not to believe in what I experience

I tell god that I am on drugs and that it's the back door to his house

That drugs are only figments of imagination gone rampant

God tells me that he created all of it so it's all part of the same thing

It's the same old tired argument with god

I get sick of it so I tell god to hush up and stop wasting time

I only have so little time to visit after all

Before I come down and can no longer walk these realms of being

And I will go back to my life of disbelief 

And never tell a soul that I have met god

Cause it very well may all be in my head