Martin McFriend

I need a teacher.
I need a phone.
I get nervous when I’m out on my own.
I tear my eyes out.
I plead for my safety.
My hands get jittery and shaky.
And lately,
I can’t concentrate,
I can’t speak clear.
I can’t formulate,
I can barely hear.
Seeing signs is a foregone conclusion.
I’m pretty sure all I got is illusions.
Pretty girls,
Dark skin, no face,
Just phantoms,
Hard leather lace.
What is real life?
Mostly real pain.
I can hear the poison,
Jetting through the wrong veins.
I can see the future,
And it’s full of winter.
I got a son and a daughter,
And their eyes are splinters.
Call me naked,
Call me sour,
Call me sir,
Call me coward.
Felled by dreams,
Skinned up knees,
Near enough,
To a life that was rarely seen,
Never roughed.
Just hungry,
In the wrong places,
Doing just about enough to get by,
A veces.
But is it dark yet?
Can I come out?
Find a young one,
Let the blood out.
Eat a child.
Fill the void.
Pretend it’s over.
Imagine humanoids.
They’re here.
Too late for running.
Acquiesce.
Because you’re done in.
And you passed the test.
For real.