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