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Who do I kill now?
Who do I kill now,
That killing is wrong?
Who do I seek out now,
That seeking out is desperation?
The retired warden,
Is offering salvation to those,
Willing to be her prisoners.
She is talking about the innate dignity
Of their promotion,
And the shame they must carry regardless.
She is bathing them,
So that they may look good,
And be dehumanized at the same time.
And her hero is so emotional,
He kills so coldly.
He is ready to comfort,
And cannot speak of his bruises,
Only the ones he sees.
He saves June-bugs,
And rapes wasps with all his imagination.
He gives back the baby bird,
And gives his mother a baby,
Capable of cannibalism.
He becomes her soldier,
And forgets to promise loyalty.
He tells the story in fragments,
Aren’t these fragments?
And we take into account our principles,
Not in action,
Only in justification.
The bitch isn’t a whore
Because others get off on her.
The bitch is a whore,
Because she can’t get up on many now.
The decaying virgin,
Decries relative morality,
For the sake of recognition,
She boldly wagers,
She has come further along than others.
And the little boy figures,
With or without the need to shave,
He still has what his daddy has.
The little boy figures,
With or without a daddy,
He still has what his friends have.
And the little boys figures,
If some must cry in the process of his healing,
His daddy still owes him a lot.
