Of death
aren't you?

Sick of hearing about it
talking about it
seeing it,
family members
strangers
friends
aunts
uncles
parents
next of kin
all I feel is dread when the phone rings.

Pablo may have been weary
of chickens
but
I've had enough
death
to last a lifetime.

Every night on
the daily news
the death report
reminds me
every time you turn around
there's another tragic story
you're going to hear.

I'm sick to death
of death
in the movies
on
t.v.

You know what I mean.

You know what?
I'm sick of this poem
I'm sick of thinking about death.

It's 8:06
I
declare it officially
dead.

The poem, I mean.

sometimes real pretty
gets a little ugly
sometimes clean
is a little *****
sometimes you die
for life
you break for healing
so break honey
break

sometimes doctors are the ones doing the hurting
and we all now that strangers
are the ones doing the flirting

what you want
you won't find where you want it

pretty isn't in the magazines
it's in the little things
it's in the broken wings
it's in the rainy clouds
it tells a story
without a whisper
without a mumbling

*you're really pretty

a man prayed for a car
and got a horse
he was so mad
"God you know i want a car!"
but God had a different plan
despite this mans prayer
God wouldn't give him a car
because to get a car
he needs you ride through the valley

I've got a bad case of mistreated
i don’t know what they need me to say
i won’t stop bleeding till this war has gone away
this is my cause
this is your loss
i’m wounded
in every palace i pay for with favors
i’m rich
i’m listed as a talent
but is it only me that dies for wounds
that define sanity?
tell me a story
that doesn't start
and end
with a beating