I Don't Want What I Have

Children abuse
The remedies;
Whoring prescriptions
To treat and
Ease the fear,
But instead
We prolong our
Pain.

We are motivated
To abstain from
Such alcoholic
Tendencies,
So we rock
A bulimic
Cradle.

Forcing fingers
Into the back
Of our heads-
We purge in order
To maintain.

Warped at the frames,
We rock the newborn
To sleep and hum
Lullabies...

Malnourishment;
In haste we suffocated
Infant lungs
To mollify.

As silence deemed
its authority,
We were in the least
Bit satisfied.

Convinced,
Someone higher on the
Food chain has been
Hired for conspiracy:

For once
These walls no longer
Seem to linger
And breathe over me.

Finally we've
Unwrapped the gift
That we so longed
To have seen beneath the tree...

But here I stand,
Christmas Morn,
Offering Santa
A crumpled receipt.