Foggy Thoughts of Blame

I wonder if you’ve thought about it a thousand times, like I have. I wonder if each day is like a thousand days of reflection, like they have been for me. Is this sibling rivalry? Or am I crazy? Psychotic as you say? I find blame in my shame, in my name, a game our parents taught us to play, but blame all the same. The song says "say it loud, say it clear . . . I wish I could have told him in the living years . . . it’s too late when we die." And now I cry. I wrote a thousand poems today, but none made to the paper, none were sharp enough to overcome this mist, to cut this fog of blame.

Pills. More fucking pills. Give him medication, something for his aggravation. You see James we all have our ups and downs. But your ups are WAY up. And your downs are too low. We’re going to give you some medication. Your heart beats twice as fast as the average human’s. Something’s just not right. It’s me you fuck. I’m not right. I should have been a good boy. I shouldn’t have awoken mother. I should have hidden my scars and bruises better. I shouldn’t have told father. That’s why they hated each other. It WAS me. I take it all. If things were better, if I was better, dad would have been at home that night. We would have never been awoke to the news of our father, our superman, dead, never to love us, never to put his hand on my shoulder and say that’s okay son. It’s all going to be okay.

That’s all I have now. I take it all.