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by TOM

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1.
paid for 01:02
i mean, i paid for my neck but it’s a chain of events, pray for the raising of dead because my mum needs a mum, dad, husband or friend shit, her son wasn’t there always running to set, somewhere up in the west she was encumbered by threats, but she paid for that house, every dollar and cent, plus she put me through school, she did that all by herself man, she paid for that home they labeled it ‘home’ that place that i’ve grown, strange faces that mould when cancer makes it a home and she paid for those surgeries sixth birthday at my aunt’s, because the day just before peter’s palms had cath constricted, like a snake or a rope but a day later they were taking me home now me and mum eating alone in that place that she choked salmon on the same set of plates that he’d thrown man, she paid for those plates look at peter trying to make it his stage, left a name, a carton and a box of his clothes, but man she paid for all those and it took those curtains closing just to make it a home
2.
i made a home of you and i never did before, so shit, having a home was new i should've known i'd move or moreso be evicted, back to homeless and addicted in this thing i live in i made a home of you not just the type of thing to hold a roof, the type of place i could grow into, some cozy rooms, some comfort, some silence some homely rules, a couple pets that live forever, some company to hold in you unthreatened, somewhere with a childhood remembered i made a home of you i broke some windows, left some open wounds ignored the mould that grew every time i never told the truth i made a home of you i did that knowing you were only human
3.
rambo 01:08
this art slaughters me, so my head up where the eagles in flight two eyes to see through a mic, open how i keep them at night i used to play ‘dark comedy’ while my dad would teach me to drive ava in the backseat, silent, scared of speaking her mind peter screaming and violent and me in need of some guidance then in-between, in some quietness, we’d listen to michael and sometimes i’d even catch dad laughing at a line or two and shit, for one moment in time or two a line was drew between him and i, a connection more than blood and chance less than the love of son and dad that some had had, a vague idea of understanding, all that in some subtle laugh in some old kia that’s still breaking down and now i can’t listen to doug fucking stamper without breaking down on unfamiliar roads that felt like they were closing in driving scared i wouldn’t make it home again but i never felt more at home with that man in those moments
4.
i could forget the world in mother’s house father’s debt to curb when the luck runs out could’ve jumped by now, of course i’m fucking proud i stuck around mum screaming, sons been found flat on the ground peter catching up with us now, ducked around the corner, real mouse-like heard him howl, cried real ghost tears when we got new floorboards and house lights just some shit to keep the house bright, know he’s somewhere in this house hiding, when i see him i might swat him like a house fly funny how the doubts write themselves out nice, i took christ off my shelf, i pray to god the fucking doubts right some things i’ve done ashamed, i kept my mouth tight my ex survived me, can’t say how fucking proud i am i dress like i rap, i don’t rap like i dress addressing my trappings, but that’s my address stuck there like the hat on my head, or the joint in my mouth, what i have to forget the world in my mother’s house every songs a response to a trauma response and i mourn that it’s more than a want mum barely affording the mortgage if you came from what i came from, and turned it into “branches, gravel and salmon”, shit i’d let you say you did a great job but i know my mums praying i never made that song ava probably praying i put the weight back on i’m still scared but some aches are gone yet to hit a growth spurt, she probably couldn’t wait that long a couple times i should’ve stayed at home but home hurt sick of the lack of acknowledgment, sick of the bashing accomplishments, sick of the fragile and asking for compliments sick of the wishing that i could get closure on why he was lacking in fatherhood sick of the fact i did acid again, sick of the hand that’s attached to the pen, sick of the fact that he’s actually dead sick of the lachie’s parading with minimum change in his heart, sick of the act and pretend sick of the fact that i did worse and hurt she who actually cared sick of harassment that haunts every crevice of this rancid address sick of the pressure to be there for children who see me as someone to lead and to build them, sick of the passion that’s left, sick of my boss never asking about how i’m doing sick of the smoking less, sick of the shit that it won’t suppress, sick of the vision of him holding her neck, sick of the clothing i wear sick of the scars that i got while drinking with people i won’t ever talk to again, sick of the growing my hair, sick of the shaving my head sick of the 5”6, sick of the the thought of sticking the landing in front of every train that i get, sick of the “i’m scared” sick of the blind threats, sick of my cat, sick of the dogs on my bed, sick of them biting back when i’m trying to rest sick of the hat on my head so sick that i have to forget the world in the mother’s house stuck like the hat on my head

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released September 19, 2022

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