The genesis of his schism can be found in her bedroom
Not as witty as he pretends to be
But the chance to change came quick
On the heels of manhood his genius was stalled
Blanketed in an emasculating wrap of comfort
Loosely colored as maternal love
Longing for the arms of the male figure that figured
He could do better
She held onto man-child far too long
The weather changed and she had no overcoat
Left him frigid with no clothes
Can’t scold the behaviorally deficient
When their rebirth was habitually practiced

Living in corrugated boxes he is boxed in by his memories
They dance about his head without the appropriate medication
Nothing to drown out the call of desperation that dipped its hands
In his innocence time and again
Crazy and wild were the times of fornication with the wrong one
Legal system should have caught that one
Yet the punishment came at his hands when he wasn’t even a man
Youth pushed to the point of action that took life
Mother’s blood still stains his soul though he’s since washed her from his hands
Living largely on the generosity of a callous society he moves with the wind
Trying to avoid getting swallowed up by the screams echoing in his head
She felt the cold steel slice and called out “Stop, son, please”
Yet he could not
Taught bitter taste of bile much too early in life
Crowned experienced partner by a partner that should not have been
Evening finds him scratching at the schism that was developed
Enveloped by the demons
He cries often

Lost will be forever the ability
The potential to be
The genius that quite possibly could have altered lives
It fell to the sick twisted need for self-gratification
One that should have encouraged and guided
Protected and abled him to flourish
Nurtured not his smooth transitions but her own satisfaction
And now suffers he the consequences of stolen choices