Talk Of One, Thought Of None

... . Another night of too much cough syrup.

I'm awakened by the incessant ringing of a telephone.

I still have dreams caked in the corners of my eyes,

And my mouth is dry and tastes shitty.

Again, the ringing.

Slowly, I bustle out of bed,

The remnants of an erection

Still lingering in my shorts

Like a bothersome guest.

Again, the ringing.

Carefully, I abscond to the bathroom,

As to not display my manhood to others.

There, I make the perfunctory morning faces

Which always seem to preceed my daily contribution

To the once-blue toilet water

That I always enjoy making green.

Again, the ringing.

I shake twice like most others,

And I'm annoyed by the dribble

That always seems to remain,

Causing a small acreage of wetness

On the front of my briefs.

I slowly, languidly, lazily, crazily

Stumble into the den

Where my father smokes his guitars

... . I mean, cigars... .

In his easy chair.

I know ALL about easy chairs.

And then I sing a song for my friends :

Jesus is my boyfriend !

Jesus is my boyfriend !

You can't have him,

Because Jesus is my boyfriend !

Ringing, ringing, dang it !

Goddamn, mother fuckin' son of a bitchin' ringing !

I walk into the kitchen and I stare blankly

At that shreiking plastic bastard.

Since it keeps ringing, I know it's her.

And since it keeps ringing, she knows it's me.

We are the world.

We are the children.

We are the ones who make a darker day,

So lets start killing.

There's a choice you're making,

We're sparing our own lives.

It's true we make a darker day,

Just you and me.