I wonder sometimes If I’m uh Bed of Thorns A predator parading Rotting wood Suckling FROM My mothers wirey form So incompacitated, elevated, still negated, excavated, innovative Meanwhile my father shoots the gun And we grow up in powder smoke And no one knows me, no one knows, no one knows me, no one knows Umbilical in suede, killed of milk, and sitll un-paid Wounds of fraud and filth that fade between my lips That spill and crave’n.