In My Feeding Tube, You Shot Me Dead

The legacy of Ophelia and Marlin:

I am the addict’s scream, accusing you of not caring—

you don’t love me; my message is blaring.

And I suck the life out of you demanding, I’m in control.

I want your money, I want your soul;

I want everything you earn—your bank account, as it gets fatter.

Please give it to me, hand it to me on a silver platter

Bend over, bow, and ask me, “Will there be anything more?”

Yes, there will always be more no matter how much you give.

If you give all of yourself, it will never be sufficient, you’ll not outlive

my requests as I grow ever more difficult and demanding.

I don’t care that you love me; you will never love me enough

I will verbally abuse you; I am huff and gruff—I can be very tough.

You will never give me enough; I want more, more, more

I know you hear me. I want more—you will never even the score.

I want to use you, use you over and over to wipe the floor.

You think I’m a degenerate—we’ve talked of this before.

And since my life is winding down, eaten by cancer

I’m not left alone; you will see I’ve never had the answer.

Yet in these hours, you sit by my side as I pour the alcohol

through my feeding tube; you know I threw my brains against the wall.

You watched my mind and body saturate with liquor;

I wish with all my might—this could have happened quicker.

I am a Vampire in need of blood from any stud

And if I can’t get it from you, I’ll take it from myself

and watch the painted ponies go up and down;

and see the world spin. Yes, I see it differently from them;

I hear the auto-dial and busy signals and go straight to voicemail.

My trail goes round and round, up and down; my call is to no avail.

You think I’m nothing, yet here I am, drugged up my selfish self;

I’m a hopeless, trashy man living an exhausting, spirit-sucking hell.

Why can’t you love me as I beat your generosity into the ground?

I have scrutinized you from head to toe; I’ve only frowned.

I don’t meet with your approval, I don’t meet with my approval

Years have gone by, now alcohol is in my feeding tube—no refusal.

You wanted me to be like you, to be normal

I didn’t want to be like you so much so that I was willing

to steal your joy, hold you hostage in my world, force you to join

spiraling down my rabbit hole, abiding in my universe immoral.

I desperately wanted you to throw me back into my dumpster fire

it would prove to me that your love isn’t real; your love is dire.

I can say I’ve manipulated you to shoot me dead, be done.

Shoot me dead, Ophelia, without a gun.

Marlin, dear brother, you are the favored son.

I want you to be a maniac, adequately kept on the run.

You said you can love me, and still you can and will walk away.

Every distressing delay—

a heartbreaking snowy siren of grief as I pour my alcohol

into my feeding tube and just forget it all.

till I’m dead

no more breath to breathe

forget it all