Don't play with matches

Pulled up to my child hood house

Pulled up in a black caddy with a door mouse

I want to retreat but he squeaks & from the drivers seat I fall out

Many mad manic menacing memories moments I just don't care to talk about

No tire swings, just wooden paddles stings, fist of famine, little man don't you dare pout

I goto the trunk tears take to the powers of gravity & for a quick moment theres some doubt

On my shoulder sucrries my little door mouse

Lightly singing something about

"Fire meets Fear & even the hardest memories burn"

Keys in the trunk I twist, I turn, the bright red can in my trunk shouts...

"FREEDOM!!!...I'll take you to a good nights sleep. Just pick me up, pour me out, and soon you'll see, gasoline, just may help to ease, the brutal stinging memories of your pre-teens."

Hand on can headed for the house

A twisted relationship this loop has long loved me like an abusive spouse

Kick in the door & with no delay I douse

The walls, tables, chairs, and an L shaped couch

I douse

A corner where my ass once glowed a 100 different colors

I douse

Where my parents use to sleep

Where we all use to eat

My bedroom where I use to get beat & locked up for weeks like a piece of meat

I douse

It all till my can is empty

& I hear my white little friend say "Leave the rest to me"

Heavy my chest starts to heave

I can smell smoke & feel heat as I begin to leave

What's left will be

Ashes of adolescent memories

A charcoal filled snow globe of destiny

I stagger out with a cough & a weez

In the distance I can hear sirens singing to me

"Take haste, take heed, unless you hope to catch a felony."

Out from the house

Comes my smokey little mouse

I stare at flames licking a crystal clear night sky

From inside that old house I hear the faint cry

Of a kid I thought would never die

Just me my mouse & I

Hop into my ride

& drive

Into a secluded scene of resolution

Out of the city past the burbs past the pollution

This caddy has wings & rides fast & high off resolution

Truth is

I've never been much of a dreamer

or a make believer

Just a volatile child a screamer

Who holds hopeful that the things he's seen will make him a mighty redeemer

Cutting cross state lines into Missouri to see her

but she won't be there it was all theater

Usually is

but gone finally is the boy the child the kid

Driving towards his fresh start is a man burning to live