She could only lay in wonder
How can someone so whole
Love someone so full of holes

Chances are,
when the rot sets in and the rot got that lot in
we'll all get thin or thinner,
A can of beans and 57 means or ways to cook and
we can wish for the fat with a dish of that or those and
who knows,
a tin of special brew will do for now
and a slice of credit cow,
somehow we'll pay
we always get the rot when that lot get the lot.

Food banks in Trafalgar square and the ranks of
the hungry, looking
everywhere.

I look but don't see the workings of a democracy
only the thin and the thinning of a community,
chances are,
we'll fall into fragments and become the silence
unless
and until
we find the will and I'm sure we will survive.

I gave into it ,
put down my fighting knife
and succumbed to it.

Like a fallen Palmetto
to the untamed selfish sea,
I fell into it.

Found myself weightless
and dry of tears,
relived of the rush
of the heart.

Veins thick with the
Poppies warmth.
Slack faced towards the heavens
in search of something more.

Saw her face made up of
unnamed stars and canceled out
all other constellations.

It took hold of me,
like the mouth of the wolf
it devoured me.

I was open and couldn't
deny.

That there was nothing of this blood
ruled earth to compare with the beauty
of a star dressed night .

There are plenty
of emotionally
damaged
souls who'd
love to
dance upon
my grave.

May even be a few
brave enough to
do me in
themselves.

I could call most
of them
off by name.

But by
doing that
I'd be granting
them Glory.

And Glory ,
in all
of its forms
must always
be earned.

Because I cannot stop my hands from shaking
Nor the wobble in my walk
I've come to terms with my mortality.
If not for a recent understanding
Of what keeps my mind on pins.
I cannot wait until I ache
For that stomach punching pit again
Putting me out my misery.
One day soon I hope and I pray
I can look you in the eyes and turn you away
But for whatever reason you remain.
The hopelessness that my eyes portray
Simply weaken every day
Until the day someone says so
And my anxiety just goes away

If you ask my friends what I've become
They'll start singing song lyrics
"Tried to find you t the bottom of a bottle, laying down on the bathroom floor"
"You're gone and she's gotta stay high, all the time, to keep you off her mind"
And by God they wouldn't be wrong.
I've taken up these habits and made them my own
Creating my own personal bubble that's headed straight for hell
I'm not saying what I've become is all your fault
But you certainly contributed to my status.
My chain smoking, my drug use, my increased alcohol consumption
My need to drive dangerously fast, stepping into traffic, my laying on blacktops
To everyone I know, it's as if I'm certainly flirting with Death
And I guess its true
And I'm not taking 100% of the blame
Some of it is on you.