Jake told me the story about why the Lonely Kings had a new drummer;
it was horrible. Jason fell off his chair during a show, he had a mini stroke. Everyone thought he was just wasted, but it was so much worse. Jay is a sweetheart. I'm glad he is playing again. He seems to be rehabilitating well. Sunshine collaborated that someone jumped up that night and finished the set for the band, at Cooper's. A hero. “I hate him.” Surprised faces. It popped out of the depths of my broken soul, accidentally. Slippery, dark secret story, the slithering bile which compels my deepest art. Write another poem about the drummer hero, who breaks into the homes of innocent, yet wasted young girls. On that brutal bloody night he changed me forever. I beg God, the Great Spirit, to teach me how to forgive. Thirty years should numb a blow, but that name, unexpected, from beautiful Sunshine, breaks my heart. No longer able to use acid, meth, weed, crack cocaine, cigarettes and alcohol as a mask. Eventually we have to learn to love our demons. Every year at this time, my birthday, I fall into a comatose state. It's cell memory, trying to assist with numbing my soul, my mind and body. I'm okay. If we're just using words, I'll survive. I'm a victim of sexual assault. My best friends admire his work. It can't be helped. But I can't easily be swayed by an empty package of flesh that broke the spirit from my body and shattered my trust in humanity. My innocence was taken, but eventually when I say “I forgive,” I'll mean it. It tears me up inside, holding this darkness. For now I'll just mouth the words. Written after a very awkward conversation with Sunshine and Jake outside Wileys/Coopers/Whatever the fuck they called it afterwards. 2019
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