Shhh! Imagine the dead have feelings, as well ~ Saturday, May 10, 2025

As if I were not made for happiness
smoke and mirrors, the world as deception

intentions, as a choice, to choose the good
for instance, heroin is quite a mess

I chose not to follow music, my dream

worthless to sacrifice from inception
endless joy and passion for the dead wood
remember authors and poets are sick
egotistical brats, side hustle scheme

nervous as dominoes lined up to fall
orbit the rock scene in circles obscene
tragic choices, end of the line, the squall

manages to shift hopes elsewhere, unseen
aspirations, unknown, not my first pick
demented to imagine that I write
even if I get better, it's too late

forty under forty, as they demand
oligarchs not born but made, how despite
recognition, respect, and loneliness

happiness in solitude is not great
as unshared, friends are few, not near at hand
proximity is now distal, at length
potential for happiness and success
in old age, at my age, no longer young
needless to say, death becomes my consort
ever-present, waiting, the noose is hung
she offed herself at twenty-two, good sport
she was my lifelong friend, I've no more strength