PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

He committed suicide on an empty stomach
Swayed on the winds of high noon just for the nostalgia
Now he’s tanning his blue skin with the coming dawn
Nothing left but his shadow wrapped around a Gordian Knot
He who laid waste to the self gives birth to mediocrity
And The Pale King who fights boredom conquers the office
Those who suffer suffocate with him out of necessity
Disciples with no direction, burning ideals to keep warm
They walk with a cold fire ruminating within their bellies
Passing The Contagion with melancholic verbosity
They must share pain in order to live pain
One must never be selfish with their misery
Some die with ideas in their heads and hard ons
Thoughts caught between the commercial breaks
They double dipped into the vat of sex and violence
But still find Gideon in-between the beds and stained sheets
And no black light can reveal the poetry in splattered soul
Despair of the past is no different from despair of today
Except its good eye for product placement and perfect timing
Death has an IPO and must take care of his share holders
Buying and selling tragedy in a bull market
Making millions off of lost eyes and last breaths
And the ticker of the dead rolls on
Names shorten to a few letters and symbols
Caskets covered in sponsors, tombstones copyrighted
But his body will dance with the weather of the day
Swinging to the melodies of crickets hidden in the void
There is beauty in sadness and horror in laughter
But there is nothing of value in the steady hum of static
It is but the aborted refuse of a mother lacking affluence
And to those who stare long enough may see the history of stars
But really they are just putting the pieces of theirs lives together
Projecting an image of dreams in the distortion of reality
Like him we bend to the breezes passing through the gallows
Standing on a broken chair preforming a balancing act
As the crowd revels in the anxiety of inevitability
So come ready and belly-full to your executioner
And if the weight breaks the wooden legs of a steady foot
Maybe the gluttony for life will fray the rope
So you’ll live some more life to hang another day.