Meth-a-morphine-oh-sis!

When I am famous, you’ll be sorry,
When I am a better lover, you’ll be jealous,
When I am far, you’ll be in the same place we were when “then” was pre-“when”
When I am rich, you will owe me,
And still, I won’t hold anything against you, nor charge anything from you,
Only the shameful look from your eyes, and the regrettable sighs from your apologetic fuckin’ cries,
That will be the toll,
That will be the day,
I will be the man,
You will be the fool,
I am today the seed of your shame and sorrow tomorrow,
The fabric of your issues and nightmares,
The origin of everything you’ll want to be,
Or want to fuck,
And then, after I am the Pygmalion,
I will want nothing to do with anyone,
“Just you wait ‘enry ‘iggins”
Just you wait, motherfuckers,
A fair baby, I am, a rough diamond,
My worth in lead will seep through your pores,
In the form of bullets, piercing all yer warm bodies,
Ya’ pissant babies, ya’ crackhead whores,
Milk from mothers’ tits,
And plastic bags with fathers’ cum,
I will give back that which was given to me with so much contempt
Friendship tokens and love mementos,
Shit from meetings with acquaintances past,
Nostalgia souvenirs from the golden days of old,
All meant to burn in the fire of my becoming,
As a Phoenix turned to crisp, turned to a Phoenix, with a lisp,
A Joaquin-like, born from a River, dead from sun proximity, reborn from greatness
From angry ashes,
The never-good-enough son,
The queer momma’s boy
The disgraceful grandson
The shameful friend
The disappointment lover
The irresponsible kid
The immature man
The not-quite-girl
The soulless junky
The lamentable has-been
The lame admirer,
The faces of mediocrity and unrequited warmth,
When I become beautiful all of you will have ugly faces,
Appalling bodies for the soul that rots,
And my once way of being never-good-enough, queer, disgraceful, shameful, disappointing, irresponsible, immature, soulless, lamentable and lame,
Will seem like once-endearing flaws of the most beautiful thing they never got to have…
From the pit of my stomach
From the tears in my hand
From rejection, bullying, from humiliating a man,
From the present me,
The faggot with a fuckin’ boring mum issue, an irritating lisp, a truly unnerving childishness about him,
From Charlie Brady to Charlie Manson,
From sonuvabitch’ to the father-outshining man-son
From a roach to a man,
And you will then remember, it is cockroaches that will be the last to remain standing in the planet.