Care, Give or Take

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Octothorpe and the Aglets

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It's going to be a day when my mom dies
It's going to be a fucking day
No one left to proselytize her life lessons
My dad will throw all of her possessions away

And I will dig through the scrapbooks she'll have left behind
And I will cling to every good memory I'll find
Because the only ones not stowed away are the ones where I'm unkind

And I'll inherit the no-longer needed, so long since heeded, chronicles of our lives
My dad will get a single bed 'cause he'll be single and half-dead
And the king'll need some rest from lifelong wives

But I don't think I'll be able to sleep on her queen-sized mattress side
Cuz part of me will feel like I'm the one who killed her
Part of me will feel like I'm the one who died
Part of me will feel like I'm the one who killed her
I should be the one who dies

It's going to be a day when my mom dies
It's going to be a fucking day
When time becomes concrete, cementing all my lies
And steamrolls every chance I have to reconcile with her lifeless clay

And the guilt will start to bear down and break me loose
And all I've built will start to tear down
My wrecking crews will try to fortify my iffy fort, but it will be no use

For if to family is to strengthen one, then I recluse
What kind of person shuns unconditional love
What kind of person shuns traditional love
What kind of person shuns unconditional love
Just the worst one - and I am that person
I am the worst son

It's gonna be a day when my mom dies
It's gonna be a fucking day.
I will cry and cry and cry and cry and try to apologize, but I'll never get a chance to say
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
But no one will hear me, and no one will care

Is this conjecture of her death romanticized
Should I expect to be bereft of standardized emotion
Not agonize over devotion, with no one left to antagonize

I'll be angry, because I've won, which means she's won
And there's no point now, with the challenge gone
Because there's no pride in this kind of victory; there's no pride at all
There's no pride at all

When that day in question appears, I'll question through tears, everything I know as real
I will begin to put things introperspective, but in the end, who knows how I'll feel
Will I regret never have given birth
Or not yet understanding what that's worth
Will I upset anyone I put on Earth
Or is my karmic calling to experience love's dearth

Who else will I pointedly wound by laying nothing on the line
And if my focus on maternal seems entirely eternal, well, no offense, Dad
We were fine

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