Death can do strange things,
like time-lapse photography,
undress those quite bored, or
make a patron saint out of a fool,
turning sleek idiots into monks
more mysterious than Rasputin.

What a place to drink, the casino
death runs, nothing fancy or beautiful,
a blind man called Dark Island
taking requests on a piano with keys
worn dull as bone handled knives.

A place the lost can find work, graceless
and not made in America without a living,
all these odd jobs death can do, like art,
factory smoke blown in the eyes of women
in Senegal making overalls for Walmart.

She will never know that I still love her so
That I would still give her the world if I could afford to do so
All she knows is that I became this ******* and told her to go
So she pushed me away shouting I hope you burn
Not realizing that my heart and soul were already engulfed in flames
As I secretly cried saying I hope you find mr.right
She doesn't know how I spent the rest of that night
That I watched her walk away until she was out of sight
Before collapsing to my knees and began to cry with all my might