About a Boy Part One: The Hate and The Hollow

Trigger Warning:  Violence against Trans People.

I wrote this one for you, oh dearest tender babe
For when you rise
With your stained halo held high
With lines worn into your face and bitter eyes

For when you wake to greet another grey day
Right on the other side of a long and sleepless night
Your raspy voice on the telephone line

Has a tale to tell
About four hours spent in hell
And the hollow men

Who saw a faggot in the wrong bathroom
At the wrong time, took turns
And left you locked in
A utility closet to die when

Their hatred for you was spent
This is the kind of sin
That goes above and beyond

Some petty losing faith
In the inherent goodness
Of all the sons and daughters of man

It becomes one of the iron clad ways
That every atom in my tiny body
Swelling to fill with the purest hate

The kind of hate
That sets your days ablaze
And you forget how to pray

When you do remember
When you do remember
You don’t even know where to begin

“You can keep this world
With all it’s sin
Because this shit is
Not fit for living in.”

On bruised knees, let us pray (prey)
For the plague to end all plagues
Or beautiful, final war to take the last one’s place

Anything to give respite to your pain
Crashing waves rising to swallow cities
And leave silent ruins in their wake

Praying for a way to wipe you fucking maggots
Off of the battered face
Of our grey and dying earth

So that we may have a chance
To dance in the flames
Of the world of men burning down

To spit on humanity’s
Collective mass grave

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