Your vest and socks now cling to you | 1 |
like a legion of leeches. | 2 |
The bruises on your face the only story | 3 |
you cannot manipulate. | 4 |
Your mouth is a graveyard, | 5 |
yellow tombstones tumbling over each other. | 6 |
You the once loquacious philosopher, street guru | 7 |
no longer speak for silence is refuge from self embarrassment. | 8 |
If you could be embarrassed. | 9 |
Regiments of beer cans now protect you. | 10 |
Their loyalty cannot be questioned unlike those you have | 11 |
swallowed before. | 12 |
Where did it all go wrong? I never hear you say. | 13 |
When did you reject the possibility of change | 14 |
and settle for the satisfaction of incremental self destruction. | 15 |
But I must give you some credit father, | 16 |
of all your failed convictions only one appears still true for you | 17 |
| |
son, committing suicide is selfish. | 18 |