Me, I’m Messiah
I wanted to save them all.
The angry boy with the shaved head
who lashed out and sliced raw wounds so red
a demon the moment he wakes up, but oh!
an angel baby when passed out on my bed.
I wanted to save him, I did.
The dream zombie, plagued with editing images in
his mind’s eye — the limpid gaze airbrushing the sky
to that specific shade of blue. The table at home left empty
the borrowed books, abandoned, long overdue.
I really wanted to save that one, too.
The boy without words who can’t ever explain
himself but was surprisingly fluent with his fist,
yes, the one that hands out black ‘n blue bruises
and fingerprint marks instead of a kiss.
I was always so soft around him, I know this.
The sweet sad boy whose tears were a weapon,
the one who’d cling so tightly to me and would never let go.
You hear the rattling in the cages, but you think,
Oh, but that one — he needs me so.
I really shouldn’t have left him, you know.
Then there’s that smooth-talking, whiskey-scented boy,
fresh-faced, shiny as a penny, and twice as destitute.
He’ll take you for a ride, to anywhere and everywhere except
of course, home. Going full-speed, hurtling towards alone.
God help me, I took him home.