Retard Strength


When we touch, retard strength too much.
I climbed aboard the crazy train and called you conductor.
We derailed outside of Phoenix on rusted tracks doomed to fail.
From there, we wandered day and night to the salt plains of Death Valley.
We foraged for dust beetles and cicadas, finding only thinly veiled carcasses.
From that we drew our inspiration, hollowing out our own bags of bones.
And, drowning in the heat, we found no refuge.

When we touch, retard strength too much.
Don’t breathe in our burnt and wasted youth.
Smoked down to the filter, lungs soggy with whiskey fire.
Shame for shame, you tyrant dame, Lady Macbeth reanimated.
You draw pleasure from my disgust, woman of painful rusted lust.

When we touch, retard strength too much.
Sure, there was passion if nothing else.
Raw chapped bit lips, skin scratched red, ripped.
Hard to recall those blissful piss filled shower sessions.
Vodka was the elixir that nourished our bond.
When we touched, perhaps we touched too much.

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