It’s not your fault for craving
The rich oil and sweet rubber,
The warm cloud of dumb bliss.
You were trained to crave it.
It’s not your fault for succumbing,
Succumbing, and succumbing again,
So that to all eyes it is intentional.
It’s only what they taught you to do.
It’s not your fault for resisting.
It’s only natural that you want to.
You don’t know why, but you know
It’s not right, it’s not right, it’s not right.
Eyes raw and throat sore,
Never sleeping through the night.
Never clean, never not reeking.
Even smooth surfaces feel rough.
Even clear water tastes bitter.
Even fresh air breathes poorly.
But there is that salty-sweet crunch,
And that ice-cold sparkling sip,
And that perfect pillowy mouthful.
These things you’ll miss if you die.
So they keep you alive for another day.
If in Hell they make you breathe only smoke
And drink only bitter burning liquids
Then at least you’ll be well prepared.
And maybe you’ll finally find people
Willing to meet you where you are.
Not making excuses or apologies
Or in a rush to be somewhere else.
Not offering scraps of trite advice
Or the spare change of dull ideas.
Not ignoring your entire existence
Or pretending not to notice you.
No hell would be so careless,
Because the devil really wants you.