Happiness is a barter
for which we happily pay,
a drug we get used to-
fatal to a point
to which I can truly not say.

What better way be there
than the circular sun of hope
that blares at the bottom of your whiskey bottle.
To which end will I reach tonight,
will I slumber , at least, an endless dream
or will I take flight, when as a feather
my feet become light.

Might I suggest, a bit of leaves
to smoke or chew,
or a bit of fairy dust,
to spoonfeed your inhibition
an burn you with lust.

What of a noose , that goes
so well with your eyes,
it comes at a cost, but
a very low price.
Why not slip it on
and swing to and thro
like swinging back to your youth?

Happiness is love, in
deaths sweet embrace
and it is found in only one place.
Someday we all sleep sound,
and finally smile at our hole in the ground.

Happiness is a barter,
for which we happily pay.
fatal to a point
where I can now say:

I am death and finally made
a short route to sweet loss of sorrow.
My name is death,
and happiness is my trade,
buy from me for a better tomorrow.