The Cost.

The cost of making it this far I can only help you understand.

I’ve paid the price of a childhood tossed into wasteland,

where monsters real and imagined stalked my footsteps and thrashed me into silence.

Where I was spat at as I moved to kiss,

forced to swallow phlegm instead of tasting bliss.

Going down, down, crushed by dirt and stone

seeing things a child should never have seen alone.

I ripped the nails from my fingers crawling up for breath

Tore my feet to shreds scrabbling from the death of my self.

Pinpricks of light blackened out,

yet still I scrabbled despite the doubt and ignorance of what may be beyond.

I would not know love even if I found it

I worship woman – though she drowned me in it.

None ever sang my song.

Maybe because they thought my darkness spread to my tongue

and the melody I sung was tuneless?

Still through anarchy, I hunted glee.

Well? – Someone had to look after me.

I found a way back to a place.

Sought gaps and spaces where I would fit

avoiding angels, so pure they have no need to shit.

I broke the backs of ferocious creatures

ripped their heads off, chewed their features

Did damage, made mayhem, caused chaos.

And now – you want to sit in MY chair?

Well let me warn you fuck-faced spoofs –

my colour is bulletproof.

You snowmen, I could melt you in the heat of my blood;

I pick fools like you out of my teeth;

I juggle with the brains of idiots before breakfast;

Laugh in the face of the privileged and feckless

Waltz with gammons who clearly don’t want it

and spin morons dizzy til their sitting in their own vomit so –

You don’t scare me.