he was just a smooth talkin sailor man
sippin jim beam from his
cowboy cup, and he never got enough.
He just kept on fillin it up; pourin the poison into his gut.
by morning it was thick, sickly lather squirming down his esophagus.
he felt like the grim reaper and ate molecules for every meal.
he prayed to god but practiced no religion.
He loved his mother but never took her calls.
He was overcome with lust but never took to women's company.
he was just a psychedelic pioneer of his time,
eating tabs of lsd and
smoking dmt.
they turn to cocaine and ecstasy and suddenly
he awakes
with a needle in his arm and
all the craving pulled from his mouth
along with several teeth and an entire lifetime of childhood aspirations.
the air gets heavy, and conversations with his friends turn heady as they
lay in circles conjoined at the cerebellum in ritualistic fashion surrounded by
discount vanilla tea candles,
praying to satan to fill them with some meaning
and there he appears,
no goats or blood, just desire in paisley silk sheets whispering a
sultry song, that beckons them into the
blissful technicolor abyss of ironic symmetry.
yin and yang, live and die,
low and high,
you and i.
Last edited by Thomasoman at May 9, 2015,