andrew, you split your head with a rock,
and the demons come out.

andrew, this does not make sense,
this father-daughter thing,
this nightmare, this world where you
almost don't exist, but then you do.

andrew, i am not your baby.
don't try to teach me god,
or worse, that he is you,
and my fate has been decided.
i'll be as crazy as a loon,
crawling on boys like a dog tick,
fat and ready to pop.

andrew, today is not the day for this.
yesterday you were dead,
and the day before, why now
are you coming back to life,
in the regions behind my eyes,
in my soft grey matter.
why are you pushing my head
against the bathroom wall.

andrew, i think we know that i blame you.
it doesn't matter that we don't talk,
that i disowned you without telling you first,
that i won't tell you that i love you,
even when you get down to beg.
you made me, and you owned me,
and creations are always up to the master
to figure out how to control.

09/29/2003

Author's Note: About my going crazy, just like dear old dad.

Posted on 10/01/2003
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair