The Cure for What Ails You

Album cover art for "The Cure for What Ails You" by Cam Awkward-Rich

Cam Awkward-Rich - Non-Music, Poetry (Literature)

The Cure for What Ails You

1 Plays

Duration: 2:59

View ArtistView Album

Lyrics

is a good run, at least according to my mother, which has seemed, all my life, like cruelty — when I had a fever, for example, or a heart, shipwrecked & taking on the flood. But now, of course, this is what I tell my friend whose eye has been twitching since last Tuesday, what I tell my student who can't seem to focus her arguments, who believes, still, that it's possible to save the world in 10-12 pages, double-spaced & without irony I'm asking Have you tried going for a run? You know, to clear your head? this mother-voice drowning out what I once thought to be my own. I'll admit that when that man became the president, before terrified I felt relief — finally, here was the bald face of the country & now everyone had to look at it. Everyone had to see what my loves for their lives, could not unsee. Cruelty after all is made of distance — sign here & the world ends somewhere else. The world. The literal world. I hold my face close to the blue light of the screen until my head aches. Until I'm sick & like a child I just want someone to touch me with cool hands & say yes, you're right, something is wrong stay here in bed until the pain stops & Oh mother, remember the night when, convinced that you were dying, you raced to the hospital clutching your heart & by the time you arrived you were fine. You were sharp as a blade. Five miles in & I can't stop thinking about that video. There's a man with his arms raised in surrender. He was driving his car. His own car & they're charging him bellowing like bulls I didn't shoot you, motherfucker, you should feel lucky for that. Yes. Ok. Fine. My body too can be drawn like any weapon.

Rate this song

Rate this song

0/5.0 - 0 Ratings

5
0.0% (0)
4
0.0% (0)
3
0.0% (0)
2
0.0% (0)
1
0.0% (0)

Loading comments...

Credits

Writers
  • Cam Awkward-Rich