We are at war.
We spoke on Christmas day.
Our uncomfortably brief 'hellos'
And 'thank yous' echoed
In ears for days,
Asking if this would be
The last day of our acquaintance,
Like a bad Sinead O'Connor song,
Not yet sung.
The family is stubborn like an ox.
Or a game of chess--
No one wants to make the first move.
Or at war--no one wants to take on the first shot
unless they truly are sadists.
And if they take the first shot,
American civilization will be destroyed
and its children will become zombies.
We are at war.
There is sand in eyes,
But the Children won't cry
because they are no longer children--
they have seen too much.
They masturbate with the American soldier's loaded gun,
hoping to gain one dollar for each unlubricated stroke--
showing daddy what they learned. . .
The real terrorist
Is the American family!
"My country tis of thee
Sweet land that fucks our childrens' minds raw
without any KY Jelly or even the generic brand."
The American family pillages our bodies
of its natural resources, creating real-life Zombies!
Kick sand in the eyes
Of zombies! And run.
Lock the door.
And hide under your little blanket, little fag boy
with your polka dot dress and bobby socks--
and SAVE yourself FIRST because daddy's gonna get you.
If you're not strong enough to conquer
then you will be conquered.
We are at War.
The family is beseiged!
We. Are. At. War.
There are no more
family gatherings on Thanksgiving,
no gifts on Christmas
or smiles at weddings
or tears at funerals.
It's time to make the first move
before you become a pawn
to your parents at age 30.
Before they murder you
and turn you into a glassy-eyed zombie,
blowing white powder in the eyes
of American civilization
to convert them out of sheer disobedience!
We are at War--
and there will never be any peace.