Metal

in a small town during the 90's

fm radio hummed stale moans

of arena rock

for most folks
that was just fine

Classic Rock
the soundtrack of their youth

but the beat of Ringo

Keith Moon

Charlie Watts

was not one i could march to

i didn't want to march

at all

i wanted to run

but there was nowhere to

run to

my peers

enamored with the grunge movement 

found that was their answer to the boring shit

our parents listened to

but for me

it wasn't enough

Soundgarden

was as sleepy as Simon and Garfunkel

Smells Like Teen Spirit 

was no more resonant with me

than Rock and Roll All Nite

i was suffocating

choking on prime time television 

Jesus Christ worship

and video games

i was out of place

and angry

and that anger was my reason to breathe 

Chad Lennon

the older kid

on the other side of our fence

saw this in me

so he started lending me tapes

he started slow

knowing that Slayer
was the most extreme band

i had any knowledge of at that time

"that's a good start,"

he said

"but..."

soon enough

i was staring at a picture of Glenn Benton

with an inverted cross branded into his face

on the inside sleeve of a Deicide cassette

it shocked me

but not as much as it intrigued me

Death Metal

Black Metal 

Extreme Metal

i didn't give a fuck what you called it

it all hit me like nothing else could at that time

blast beats and monster vocals

were like messages in a bottle

that no Police song could fit into

skull art and Satanic lyricism 

was my assurance that others

like me

were out there

weird

hostile 

and unafraid

long-hairs dressed in black t-shirts

vehemently proud about being unusual

with a reverence for impiety

the more unholy the music was

the more sacred it was

now

i'm not as Metal

as i used to be

i kinda like Simon and Garfunkel

and my back hurts way too much

to ever set another foot in the mosh pit

but

there is always a twisted

black corner in my heart

reserved for the soundtrack of

my

youth