Becoming Me

Legacy

(9-03-03)

Timid boy
Still hides behind
Mothers skirts.
Broken bones,
Broken lives.
No measure for
The hurt.
Finger in mouth
To mimic gun
I trace
Trajectory.
Soft pallette to
The crux of
Squiggly skull lines.
Grapefruit hole.
Mess that no one should
Clean up.
Stop the uselessness
Of life.
My friends death,
Slow but exquisite,
The beautiful expression of
Pain personified.
I want the
Fast and easy route
As always I have.
My legacy is that
Which I created,
Not what I destroyed.