by Martin Foutch

You look at me and think of Demons, running through my brain,
I am a narcissistic schizophrenic; icy cold insane.
I'm staring down upon it all,
From high atop my killing wall...
Warm machine gun in my hands,
Head full of demented plans.
Feel the anger quickly spreading
As I watch you, all unawares and heading
Right into my field of fire,
As my finger twitches with desire.
You appear in my fine tuned sight,
And I prepare to send you gently into the night,
Gently, like a lover, I squeeze the firm trigger.
You're Dead.
And now what have I accomplished...
What the hell have I done...
There are a million arrogant ass-holes,
And all I got was one.
I look at my fingers (they're right there on my hand)
And slowly, methodically, crush one more can.
I can close my eyes and look down at your corpse,
And watch as your blood feeds the grounds pores.
And mentally count my remaining beers
As your voice continues to grate in my ears.
"You're're lazy, you won't amount to shit."
If I had another twelve-pack, I could really get lit.
"Cut your damned hair, Mister, go find a job."
"Shave that shit off your look like a slob."
My finger comes up and points right at your face,
Fuck you and your opinions, get outta' my space.
I see your fists coming, I don't CARE if I'm hit,
I feel my face swelling and know my lips' split.
Now you tell me, what the HELL should I feel?
Encouraged or grateful?  Well, wait till I heal...
The pain from your fists won't even last till I'm dead...
What I cannot forgive is your voice in my head.
You have been gone now coming on twenty years,
And except for the scars, there's nothing of yours here.
But each time I turn, I expect to see you behind,
Because your God-Damned voice is still in my mind.
I was a child, you Bastard, a dumbass young kid...
And I'd like you to tell me what the fuck it was I did.
You broke my bones, you burned my flesh and yelled and yelled and
As I tried to save the others from your private brand of hell.
Today the others hate me, some of them at least,
Never knowing what I tried to do, to try and give them peace.
They only saw the person, the illusion that I grew,
The un-repentant Ass-hole that could maybe deal with you.
My mother thinks I hate her, but you know, I understand,
You being so perverted was nobody's freaking plan.
My brothers and sisters don't know me, I don't even know myself...
Suicide comes in many's that for mental health?
It's possible you killed me, I geuss that time will tell...
But you know, I have a child now, and she's NEVER heard me yell.
I hurt a lot of people, trying to get away from you...
The fact that you were already gone, to me is still not true.
I see you in my nightmares, and I hear you when I'm wrong.
You always thought I was small and weak, but I'm not...I'm big and
And I can break your evil neck and kick your grey old ass,
But then you win, you Son of a Bitch, because then the curse is passed.
So I sit here drinking on these broken steps, sticking needles in my
Because the drugs, they shut your old ass up and give refuge from the
But I have stopped the alcohol and put the needles down,
And realized you were always pathetic, a psychopathic clown.
And I won't be your puppet, and I won't be your clone,
You're evicted, head is NOT your home........
Maybe my revenge is that I know I will outlive you...
But I suspect my greatest challenge is to somehow learn to forgive you.
And none of that will be for've got all you'll ever get.
If any of this was meant for you, I wouldn't give a shit.
But I am going to find myself, and free me from your grip,
And learn to make a simple mistake without hearing your lip.
Leave my past behind me, and leave you there as well,
Because I have a choice, and I CHOOSE to walk out of Hell.
And you're no longer scary, and you cannot touch me now,
I released your rage and fury, forgiving you was how.
The journey has been long, with twists and turns and bars,
But I release you, Sir...I am bigger than you are......

                              MARTIN W. FOUTCH