Deathdealer

It started with lust Loneliness A sense of detachment An inability to connect with others due to an inherent lack of self worth A shit stained pair of skidz By ’94 you had mastered the art of overeating And developed a knack for drawing negative attention to yourself By running your fat mouth at the worst possible moments You paid for it Once you realize that everyone dies Anxiety arrives But guess what? You didn’t have to worry (not for long) About feeling anxious or regretful For having discovered that your actions were useless That your attempts at creating a meaningful body of work were fucking laughable You found a cure for that knowledge Occasional weekend visits to SHIT STREET Turned into a full time residency And you paid your rent Pushing Chore Boy through a glass pen With a length of coat hanger The ink discarded The words forgotten Once you realize that everything dies You fall before you rise Naked Flaccid Hopeless Heartsick Stomach empty and head cored Hands alive with the sudden Power of free will It’s not a sentence we have to serve But the trigger pushed my finger back from the guard The dealer took his offer off the table and moved on Even though the rats had swarmed neck high The writhing wake of vultures fully blacking the sky Even though the grave was all I could taste And the centipedes had long since set up shop in my brain The rattle had begun to form in my throat The sickle swung in circles with me in tow Still… It wasn’t my time yet