Fingers Like a Gun

This ice cream cone tattooed on my face

Is a reminder that life is short and sweet and to not retreat into the rotten teeth of my mind

Which I tend to do time to time

A self destructive magic trick

That I’m trying to make disappear

Along with the fear of being viewed as a failure by my friends and family and peers

You better learn how to run

Make your fingers like a gun

And learn to shoot to kill

The only language this world speaks

I’m straightening my emotional bow tie and looking the boss in the eye

I’m ready for my audition for the position of juggling unthinking big talkers into trash cans

I’m gonna slide my resume across the desk and any concerns can be addressed once we agree on a hefty fee that includes dental insurance (capiche?)

I’ve blown the sad harmonica of youth

And I’m living proof of the consequences of the decisions that I’ve made

But this is my comeback phase

I didn’t square dance my ass all the way through public school to end up some fool

On the wrong end of a cigarette

Talking about how I coulda if I just woulda