Running with Hand Grenades

Running with Hand Grenades:
By Mark Miller © 11/26/2014
I never knew much as a kid I thought,
Only how to run fast when Ma's throwing the kitchen flask
Like some kind of freak smoking glass.
Breathing hard as I'm running through back yards objects flying past cars
Thinking this could be my last hooray.
Hiding like a heathen with some kind fever under some tree in the woods
Where loot, stash, and cash from last nights blacked out criminal experience
Ain't got no feelings lost of hugs so I do more drugs filing my minds lots experiment.
If you want meek go ask someone down the street by Holy Trinity's rosary
Cause all you get from me is havoc, hell, and punishment.
Police always looking for little ole me but I'm telling ya folks I'm innocent
I'm not asking you to like me in fact you should spite me
For all I see is peyote hallucinations and demons, ha you think I'm scared
I'm only feared stealing credit cards at 20% fee finance please.
Spent high school life picking on losers plight taking their lunch dimes
Most of the time it's easy with your conscience blind- buying iced dreams and trees, Really they never mind too much after a lasting punch
Which i knew would give some hunch of my deadened feelings of being berated battered and scattered. Nothing matters.
Some thought I had a happy safety nest but it was only me being alone lost in an empty closet scared out of my wits cause I took too many hits how was I supposed to know not to smoke orange micro-dots out of apple rots -remember this was my era there was no Snapple.
My occupation was to numb my criminal ways away my brains neural net now sedated I'm hated.
All for one and all for me, Hyde, and some other guy named Clyde Don't ask why!
Feeding addiction without restriction like some kind of derelict but really your honor I'm a heretic.
You say my life's a joke when you go worship hope drinking blood from some Grateful dead head who lied on a cross acting like a vampire frayed and betrayed.
A man turned manic into panic believing in a clause of lost cause
Do yourself a favor and get some paper to write something worthwhile with trite while I steal a dollar from the priest's collar.
I grew up knowing whats right as I stole my moms wallet at night, but that was then and this now and I think I'm nice Na I'm cold as ice.
I'm my opinion I was teaching lessons that money creates doubt and weakness, but who am I to say when the DSM axis three determines me to be AD/HD, possessed by five then say have nice day goodbye.
So later when I became me deafened beyond sea and she, despair and sorrow became best friend indeed, can't you see what this non-sense means growing up with a house of demented creatures intent to leave me behind.
Kicked out at 17 given two-hundred and fifteen Dad saying good luck stuck with freedom I never needed.
Don't cost much living in space of six by eight refrigerator made 1968 living with bottles and hoes, Oh excuse me what I meant was holes you know in my soul.
So at twenty-five when life took a dive I meet who I thought might be someone real whom I didn't have to steal from,
Hey you know I couldn't survive with a wife who juggled knives, razors, and lighters meant to heat me in bed with one of her possible friends.
I never thought it last forever but love twisted and severed as I gave what I didn't have to give and somewhere I lost track spending money too fast near a train which seemed to reside in my brain.
Party's, plates, empty lines, and killing sunshine living in my basement like a spider recluse with nothing to lose.
Decadence, self-confidence, and recklessness was growing inside with a menace for solicitude and silence.
And all this time what I really wanted was violence.
But something hits you when a vase comes flying at your face 70 miles airspace.
And that's no metaphor she was trying to kill me cause she thought I was with a whore.
The best way to ruin a permanent vacation is frustration of rationalization and realization hits every orifice and I don't even have an office.
Wondering how I got in a board room with spotty men in suits mumbling echos of someone senseless and loose having cocaine addiction seemed pretty apprehensive and messed up to me.
Who is this #$@hole I got work to do anyway let me have my way.
All my mind was on was where that bag of loot was.
Mm maybe left in that girls boots placed in the fireplace which I thought was booze
She was trying to hide, get it from Mr. Hyde but my wife had other plans in mind. Carol? Who the heck is Carol I say? Some snob in lavender scrubs with polka dots thinking she's hot when really she's not.
Oh, my boss who offered if I didn't want my job lost I'd better check into rehab I'll see ya.?

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