Oct 2016
13th October, 2016
To all this will concern:
I sit alone.
I just sit.
When I breathe, I try not to stir the air
and make sails out of cobwebs.
When I breathe, I urge my chest
not to furrow my shirt.
When I breathe, I almost die
so that I'm barely breathing.
For who should want my breath
to be more than a whimper?
If I breathe,
butterflies can take the day off,
for my breaths will churn hurricanes.
They'll cause wars in the far reaches of the universe.
They'll make God sneeze.
"Oh, I'm sorry... bad breath."
If I breathe,
I'll be presumed alive.
I'll have to work.
I'll work for big tobacco,
or BP
or the mafia: whichever one.
My ecological footprint will be the bodies
of your loved ones.
I'll do this because, if I work at the grocery store,
who knows when I'll sell food to the local
serial killer.
I'll be aiding and abetting the 9 to 5 of Freddy down Elm street!
Who wants that?
No, no. Yes, I'm right, it's better this way.
And if you push me.
If you so much as touch me.
Millions, perhaps billions, of infinitesimally small parasites will swarm your body. You'll sneeze.
"I'm sorry. I haven't showered for thirty days because: the oceans, you know?"
Action has consequence and, after so many years of trying not to be a burden and, somehow, still being a bigger burden, I'm convinced its time to go.
I've decided to be a sack of compost... Grade A compost.
I'll mail myself to a respectable farm (non-GMO mind you).
I'll pray to all the gods and living, semi-living & unconscious entities beforehand to straighten things out that I'm signing up with Jesus: nothing personal, I just don't think the rest of you have good benefits (you have to be cordial. After all, I'm going to be something important one day. Grade A compost isn't cheap.)
The last step was to write this letter. Digital, of course. Don't want to waste paper mailing this to everyone. Yes, I'm not stupid. I paid all the different energy companies in the world the exact dollar amount per second it would cost someone to read this each time the page is accessed until... well, the end of this website. Have to be practical.
This is a strange suicide letter, I know, but bare with me.
My method of choice.
Well, I don't want to leave a mess, so I'll just wait until I'm dead.
How did you think this was going to end?
To all this will concern:
I sit alone.
I just sit.
When I breathe, I try not to stir the air
and make sails out of cobwebs.
When I breathe, I urge my chest
not to furrow my shirt.
When I breathe, I almost die
so that I'm barely breathing.
For who should want my breath
to be more than a whimper?
If I breathe,
butterflies can take the day off,
for my breaths will churn hurricanes.
They'll cause wars in the far reaches of the universe.
They'll make God sneeze.
"Oh, I'm sorry... bad breath."
If I breathe,
I'll be presumed alive.
I'll have to work.
I'll work for big tobacco,
or BP
or the mafia: whichever one.
My ecological footprint will be the bodies
of your loved ones.
I'll do this because, if I work at the grocery store,
who knows when I'll sell food to the local
serial killer.
I'll be aiding and abetting the 9 to 5 of Freddy down Elm street!
Who wants that?
No, no. Yes, I'm right, it's better this way.
And if you push me.
If you so much as touch me.
Millions, perhaps billions, of infinitesimally small parasites will swarm your body. You'll sneeze.
"I'm sorry. I haven't showered for thirty days because: the oceans, you know?"
Action has consequence and, after so many years of trying not to be a burden and, somehow, still being a bigger burden, I'm convinced its time to go.
I've decided to be a sack of compost... Grade A compost.
I'll mail myself to a respectable farm (non-GMO mind you).
I'll pray to all the gods and living, semi-living & unconscious entities beforehand to straighten things out that I'm signing up with Jesus: nothing personal, I just don't think the rest of you have good benefits (you have to be cordial. After all, I'm going to be something important one day. Grade A compost isn't cheap.)
The last step was to write this letter. Digital, of course. Don't want to waste paper mailing this to everyone. Yes, I'm not stupid. I paid all the different energy companies in the world the exact dollar amount per second it would cost someone to read this each time the page is accessed until... well, the end of this website. Have to be practical.
This is a strange suicide letter, I know, but bare with me.
My method of choice.
Well, I don't want to leave a mess, so I'll just wait until I'm dead.
How did you think this was going to end?
I hope you laughed a little.
I didn't intend for this to be funny, but a little ways into it I couldn't help but make myself laugh. My other poem today was too sad so, I guess this had to be the reverse, LOL.
Enjoy!
DEW
I didn't intend for this to be funny, but a little ways into it I couldn't help but make myself laugh. My other poem today was too sad so, I guess this had to be the reverse, LOL.
Enjoy!
DEW
