A blank page
A new rage
Another day
A few more words left to say . . .
Fueled by the ego
Where did our youth go?
A ticking watch
A writer who likes to box
A fighter who likes poetry
A man hungry for another story
Something left inside of his chest
He’s not dead yet
No . . .
Not dead yet . . .
Just a chest wound
Just a flesh wound
But still
He’ll be seeing God soon
And weighed and measured
Judged through and through
From the aerial view
God already knew
Who was who
What sin was he
And what sin was you
Bitter and angry
He sank on the scale
Pride as big as a whale
And the good in him
As light as a jellyfish
Out of love and mercy
God grants the man one wish
And he shocks God when he says
That with his wish
He just wants one little thing
For Sydney Sweeny to suck his dick
And to feel her tits
And then he can call it quits
Then he’ll finally submit
Then
He can go to hell
He’ll sink down the wishing-well
Where the familiar smell of hell will hit his nostrils
Back to the place where he fell down to
A few times before
Back when he had enough light
To float back up out of the darkness
But not this time
No
This time if he wants back up
He’ll have to climb
He’ll have to push through the darkness
And harness
The heat
He’ll have to bleed
On the blank page
And take all of that rage
And climb up day after day
He will have to climb out of hell
With demons pulling on his heels
He won’t heal
Like he needs too
But when he is done
He sure as hell won’t need you
The light flickers out
And he can’t see his shadow in the darkness . . .
The beginning of the darkest day
And the artist still has a few more things to say . . .
CH 10/21/24
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