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A Poet's Birth
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Ramblings from a Drunkard Goodbye festers like root rot in the gums.
Spreading the heart breaking venom.
Waiting for the final smile. The final breath.
Goodbye festers like an acid laced thorn.
Burrowing itself deeper into the spirit's flesh.
There is a man dying giving birth to legends.
Writ in the blood of fallen stars.
Shakespear's quill pierced the voice box.
King's nightmares are the marching bad.
Bukowski is the comedy relief.
In the piss fur coffin lies not Stoker's terror right.
What lies within the coffin, is a living poet.
High on dreams, drunk off hope.
Blind by cherish, deaf by the Muse.
Here is the birth of a poet festering in goodbye.
