I just wanna punch god in the throat.
And why the fuck not?
Aren't I due?
I've been on this somewhat blue earth long enough to earn some tenure.
So where's mine?
Where's my fucking million dollars, my crack addicted children, my broken jaw ephemereal phantasy.
Where are my fucking flying cars?
SUNDAAAAAAAY BLOODY SUNDAY!
Only it's wednesday, and I've been alive too fucking long without a gold fucking plated ferrari, I deserve it, I saluted the flag, I shat on the french fries, I hated every tosser that talked different from me, I pushed every motherfucking brownskin down a flight of stairs- ESPECIALLY if they didn't deserve it.
So where's mine?
It didn't get me anywhere.
So I decided to shout FUCK america with my new black friend.
I stopped leaving the house.
I stopped fucking my palm in the name of the father.
I stopped going to church.
I stopped
Only white lines seperate me from here and happiness. Blame the man in moscow. Blame the cow in the kitchen. Blame the "tyrant" in the jungle just north of the twin. Blame Mcdonalds. Blame TV. Blame mom and dad. Blame the kids that stuck their parts in me "just playin". Blame the ghosts in the desert. The ones they say have yellow cakes and tastey treats of doom. The ones that are winning the war. Blame your neighbor. Blame your lover. Blame your mistress. Blame that handsome fellah that gives you those muscley back rubs.
Give me what's mine.
Blame God.
But one thing we know.
For certain.
Pride's okay.
Entitlement is okay.
Okay is okay.
Why not exceptional?
Why not divine?
Why not perfect?
...
Don't ask me why I hate it.
Don't ask me what everyone did wrong.
Don't ask me what we did to ruin this dream.
The land of the prosperous.
Of brotherhood.
Of understanding.
Because if you have to ask.
If you had to read this once and not twice-
You're just one of them.
Blame sin.
Blame me.
It's my fault the dream died.
It's my fault.
It's my fault.
It's my fault.
