words are raw with meaning
this time; like eulogies
written to ghosts of a past
that's worthy of being misplaced and abandoned.
you asked for one shot at life,
just one,
hoping that that one shot would have the ability
to cure all past illnesses, curb all desires,
and bring you back to life from the death
lurking at the door.
sadly, it was denied,
like poisons put up on top shelves to stay out of reach.
but, what if - just what if -
messages played in reverse in time
and lagoons were filled with archaic rhapsodies
blessed with bad memories and ill wishes for you,
and the music played:
'yes, guess you deserve one shot at life,
just this one time.'
but poisons were not always out of reach;
drawers breathed with life,
to be crushed and inhaled to take you into paralysis.
what if you were granted one shot at life:
life lessons had always been incomplete,
locked doors needed slithers of light rather than complete scenes,
i would drive knives inside your mind
and carefully lay you down on the floor
to no longer be eaten by grey worms.
i've unearthed a life of yours that was prematurely buried
in an attempt to give it a funeral,
only to learn to never exhume dead bodies.
your apparent best friend tells you one puff at life
is good to promote mental health;
and then they begin ...
'mushrooms are good too'
your apparent good friends tell you to
vape away everything for the better;
and the two countries debate -
which one is worthy.
'do you want to build a snowman?
yes, but i can't.'
the stars haven't yet spelled out
that the skies are under the influence
of something more toxic than all of these things.
human is breathing an equally real poison.
is blood the price to pay
for mistakes made?
where do i spill the blood from?
