cold sweat

addiction is motivation
blinders on and unaware
that the world was bigger
than a pill bottle
close to empty, began
its lonely death rattle
only one more dose
better vomit first

From My Cardboard Box Archive III: 1995, age 20

"Death is a Salesman"

Disease is not a pretty thing
But a close and easy friend
All my passion and feeling
Are burned to a crisp.

And death is a salesman
A quick and easy fix
Disease there to guide me
Through life's little tricks.

Yes, death is a salesman
All must deal with him
Life is like a gameshow
Pain all you can win.

Die Anew

IV stings
Bedpan smells
The lonely nausea
I know so well.
The dehydrated
Muscle cramps
Contorted hands
Under harsh lamps.
And the routine
Moments bygone
But come again
Before long.

A daily warfare
Waged within
Weakness to some
To others sin.
But they're blind
To the stench idiotic
Bags of saline
Piggyback antibiotic.
I long to end
But fix my heart
On single purpose
A violent art.

So, I hate them
With paranoid fear
I long for death
But not here.
Not here...
On sterile sheets
Rather among cold earth
Accept me.
In its kind embrace
Again to be dirt
Where flowers grow
Picked gently.

For some other's
Cold hospital room
To quickly wilt,
And die, anew.

To Be Human

Why should I resent this world?
When it is all I know and have known?
Maybe there is more to know, maybe not
That is a gamble wagered in the heart
What if it is wrong to be human?
To have this self-awareness and perception?
To have intention and words,
And feelings too human for those words?
What if humanity is nature's nightmare?
Should I dissolve myself back to dust?
That would be as useless as a drop of rain
Falling away in disgust of the rainbow.
What if I feel the burden of the pain and nightmares
That my particular life has borne?
Should I eat a bullet in fear,
No.
Better to bear witness, with eyes open
Unafraid
Unashamed
To be human.

But Maybe Now

A death song loud and clear
Where the winter wind crushes bone
The echo of silent suffering
A bloodless moment spent so alone.

Howling wind cuts a morning scream
Preaching hard through a prophet's feast
His eyes are all fear & trembling
But he's still got a taste for greed.

They say somethings are a mystery
Wonder, fear, and cold surprise
Digital pain and analog love
Every question built on a lie.

So, keep your eyes on the skyline
Keep your head to the ground
This is the kind of place where
A heart's not easily found...

But maybe now.

Dead Already

"Dead Already"

If you knew you would die in your sleep
From the time you woke up one day
What would you worry about?
The loved ones you leave behind?
Every day thousands of lives end
Those connected to their lives go on
Would you regret some omission of word or deed?
When you had a lifetime to bear it...
How vulgar, how profane
To stammer through it now
If you knew you would die today
Would you go to work?
Would you eat a favorite meal?
Would you climb onto the stair master
Would you sit in silent judgment
Of the life you have lived?
Or silent regret for the one you did not?
Would you say goodbye
Or make dozens of phone calls?
Would you just stare greedily
Into the faces of those you love?
If you knew your would die today
Would you pray?
Would you beg for more time?
I don't think so.
If you knew you would die today
You would do much as you do every day.
You would feel the same minor frustrations
That seem to make life unbearable: 
Poor cell phone reception, slow internet
Lovehandles you just can't shed
Those you love so much would walk by
Unnoticed as they so often are
If you knew your would die today
You would live just as selfishly as yesterday
Because you are going to die today
Some today
But don't covet your worries and cares
They were already dea.