post-martyrdom depression

i accept these terms of service
ill wear the cross-shaped backpack
and the backpack-shaped cross
ive always been a glutton for punishment

i can faintly hear the dainty tears
of a runaway child bride
the footsteps on bubble wrap, shes slowly escaping...
creeping down the steps
dads like me never get invited to the kinds of parties shes running off to
i guess thats par for the public course

if i could do it all over again
i would do it exactly the same way
i did it
and again
until i regain
some kind of reagan-esque respect
for my most circumspect aspects

but anywise
if i may generalize, in a most general sense
i would order my troops to travel to the UCLA medical hospital morgue
to resurrect the corpse of michael jackson
reanimate him in a top secret government lab in my mothers basement
and force him to thoroughly explain to the fundits of tomorrow
the scope of his influence and musical genius
and why dancing in the flying v formation
is more relevant than any of emilio estevez's contributions to mankind