Nice Little Boy

If I stare long enough,
I can still see the scars on my cheeks
from all the pinches I used to get.

“You’re such a nice little boy.”

I remember when
a pat on the back
was a syringe full of heroin,
and I always said
my pleases and thank yous
for a healthy dose.

But nobody ever told me
the supply stops
when the nice little boy
becomes a nice big man.

And nobody ever told me
keeping your hands to yourself
doesn’t make you Jesus Christ.

And even if it did,
Jesus never gets the girl, anyway.


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