Songwriting Confidential #10

I threw it on the table, my little demitasse of defiance; empty as soap, contrite as a lamp, I was disguised as a human, a boy with no antidotes for horrible dreams and stomach pains, no protection from a father who was two Brahma bulls incarnate, and then the whisperings began, ghostly voices with anemone hands fluxing and prodding me to turn my head towards the moon and imitate the wolf who prowled copiously beneath my ridiculous window, snarling "scream at the moom you little idiot, let Luna douse you with portents and fearlessness, for if you don't I will catch you and rip you bits to of shard and gristle and curse your ill tasting bones into eternity's dump yards". I moaned and vomited and ran insanely to the pawn shop and bought a 25 dollar guitar.