Well here we are again. Happy Death Day, J.
(Anniversaries. Inside jokes. Forgotten birthdays--a drunken haze.)
You had said, "We're only friends." Okay. Alright.
Keep your distance. Say less. Don't pick a fight.
I never pushed, never overstepped,
never prodded, never overslept--unkempt.
You were in my life for all of one cruel second
and gone the bitter next...
You were tired; you were bored, unloved, severely underscored.
Your mother, ever scorned, ignored your spiral down, abhorred your core...
Well, she was a whore.
She was the last person your ever spoke to--
Not me; not Sabien; not Benevento Oshu.
You had never needed help until that moment.
Now Mother Dearest is asking us for atonement.
She'd have better luck begging you--pills, swallow...
Because she forced you down a way none of us can follow.
It's been six long years now, but still, here comes a stupid tear.
Happy Death Day, ya big queer. I wish that you were here.
Cheers --Blondie
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