Tricks

I wonder what happens
in the recesses of her mind
If there's anything there
Or if she's boarded up, nailed,
and blocked all the doors
Afraid of whatever might wait
behind those old, worn planks
The past won't leave her
She can't gain from it,
because she never learned how,
and can't be taught new tricks
Those that can't learn,
should be the last to teach
But she'd say she raised me,
just because I lived under
the many roofs she offered,
and she fooled me early
into thinking I needed her
That couldn't last forever
Now, the tricks are obvious
And I think about it sometimes,
but it's difficult to believe
that a part of her is in me
I pretend the similarities end
with the birthmark on my arm,
or the eyes that remind me
every time I look in a mirror
The Johnson blues, right?
Yeah, but they're not all
Just the surface residue,
and the real blemishes
are concealed within me
Gnawing at my structure,
and burrowing deeper ever day
I'm still searching
for the means to lure them out
so I can bury them in light
But I never learned how,
and I can't be taught new tricks