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collecting dust
i remember when i used
to get stoned as a teen
i would look around the room
and be my own beer commercial
rambling on about how these were
the best days of our lives and how
it would never get any better than this
and as i sit here now
cranking up my jesus and mary chain albums
loud enough that the fillings
in my teeth shake, while dreaming
about cruising the town searching
for eye candy
i take no comfort in my teen prophecy
knowing that my better days
are tucked away in boxes
in my closet, collecting dust
much like most memories
should i guess
but some of us reach that
mountaintop way too soon
and i think about what kerouac said,
how the only way to come down a
mountain was running
of course, jack was an alcoholic
and he's dead now
so i'll gladly walk slow enough
that those glory days have many
years before they fade away from view
looking back on a conversation with my father
(20 years later)
my pride always took a hit
when you looked in my eyes
you simply had a way of
making my importance
or lack thereof
very evident to me
i always appreciated that you
never wasted any time
getting to the point
but thankfully i never made the
mistake of thinking you
gave a fuck anyway
ramblings of a long winded ass clown
i'm one of them scratch
ass sniff finger types
the gut hanging over the belt
fuck tucking the shirt in kind of
guy that every parent hopes and
prays their son doesn't turn into
i'm controlled by apathy
controlled to the point where bathing
everyday is damn near impossible
but i do think highly enough of myself
that i make sure my sweatpants match the
shirt i'm wearing that day
my apathy has me wondering if i cut my
eyes enough, would they scab over to
the point where they could never open again?
meaningless question actually since i
don't have the patience or the
stomach for such an act
self-mutilation by drink is much more my style
and through this liquid courage
this truth serum, i can tell my
life is coming to a head soon
a war is raging and one battle is left
winner takes all
good vs. evil, right vs. wrong,
night vs. day, yankees vs. red sox
i have money on each side because i'm
a pussy when i bet
but i honestly don't care who wins
for i know the victor doesn't care for the spoils
260 lbs. of flesh and body hair
dry wit and a devious sense of humor
my better days are behind me
of course, that could just be the alcohol talking
for i still wake up each morning
i still take the time to wipe off the cum each day
i still wait at the post office for the lost letters
of love to finally arrive in the mail
there's a hopeless romantic trapped inside
of this fat insane fuck before you
i'm not exactly sure how you found him
but it's not like i really care either
i'm just glad you bothered to fucking look
and weren't put off by the fading paint
on my evil facade
perhaps, i can buy you a drink
get you to stay awhile
talk me down from this ever-present ledge
yes, yes, i know
i'm not going to fucking jump
but can't anyone just take it
seriously for once
i would take off my black sheep clothes
and reveal the wolf inside if i honestly
thought it would make a difference
but i have noticed that apathy
is much like a disease
it spreads at a very high rate
when not taken care of immediately
and to think my high school teachers
thought i wasn't going to use my gifts
the way they were intended to be used
fools, nothing more
than damn fools
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