Mother Said Saint Jimmy

You met him in a bar

(Or something)

Blown out of your mind on your own fine wine

And him tipsy as Hell

On vodka and life

Shook his hand in the dark while hard rock blared

Don't remember the song or the place

Remember the way that he looked instead,

The attitude that he just didn't give a fuck

Young and high, sweet as sin, tattered pants, sharp as a fucking needle

Shared some crystal blue drink that might have been absinth – and might have been poison

For all you were fucking aware

And you danced that night, not hidden in the shadows, with this boy

Almost touching, giving way to soft skin unaltered by age and drink

Like yours is

You kissed him in the dark, in the alley behind the bar

(Or whatever)

Pressed so fucking hard against him you might as well have pushed him straight through the wall

But that was it, sweet and short and hot and hard

Hadn't seen him since

But that was many years ago

Now you watch from the sidelines, as he belts out words you've no chance of understanding

He sings like lightning, quick and harsh

Brutal and beautiful

And your jeans are tight, but they're always tight, and come on – seriously, he's a fucking boy

(Faggot faggot faggot)

But it's the after party that makes you tick

The wine's been poured, it's your label but you aren't bragging, as you watch the posers

Drown in their glasses

And he sees you

(Of course he does, you're wearing that damn hat)

And waves you over and you meet the band and you meet the lady

Seem to remember her face, got someplace better to be though

(No, you fucking ain't)

And you take your leave with a nod and a smile

Swear to God he looks sad, spot him looking at your ass, stares out the door as you leave

Fucking lady – you had him first

But still, that was many years ago

Now you think about him, what he's doing, who he's sleeping with

Once he wrote you a letter, how you're doing, where you've been

Heard you had a kid, great me too

Did you write back, you bitter old man, not for the longest time

Fucking drunk as Hell when you plucked up the courage but he didn't seem to notice

Just wrote right on back again

Sends you a photo of his homage outfit – dude's in a fucking skirt

And you jack off thinking about his skinny body under all that fabric

And what it maybe feels like after all this fucking time: aged by booze and sex and high

(Yeah, like you're fucking perfect)

You think about him with your friends, your lady, your lad, your band

When you're smacking off alone at night

One hand on your cock while the other cradles a glass of whiskey

Counting Bodies like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums blares in the background

Cuz you fucking felt like going back

To that goddamn night

When you should have fucked him

All those years ago

And does he think of you

When he's jacking off, stood up in the shower with his face against the wall

Is it your face in his mind;

Your hand on his dick;

Your fingers up his ass;

Your teeth at his nipple;

You tongue in his mouth;

Your words in his ear;

Is it you that he wants, pressed against the cold shower tiles while the steam from the water

Mingles with the steam from his tiny body

As he shudders and moans

Screams and gasps

Into his own hands

Is it your name that he screams when he comes?

No, probably not

But it hurts no one to dream

St J that he is

Fucking haunting you now cuz you didn't have the courage back then

To stand with the posers, to put up with the sluts, to hold him at night

You were the one that walked off, cuz you couldn't handle your shit

Of course it's not your name that he screams now

It's you that's screaming his

So don't fret precious, cuz he ain't it!

(God fucking dammit, it was so long ago)