the poisons I put in my body
Things we do to ourselves.
Out of boredom, or a desire to feel something other
than what you’re supposed to be feeling at that moment.
Teachers, parents, leaders — anyone the wiser, tells you to stay away.
Live clean, be smart, but I did it anyway.
Some shit I did just to fit in with the crowd, or to be cool… whatever that means.
I don’t care who you are, you want to follow the crowd.
Or at least have the crowd follow you.
Everyone wants to be a trend-setter.
Wear what he’s wearing, look like she looks,
pluck your goddam eyebrows.
It’s for the greater good.
Coffee can be a poison too. Sipping on that expensive brown water, pretending it’s some catalyst of creativity or bringer of enlightenment.
But I’m not an Italian grandfather with any enlightenment to share and the stuff I drink is more akin to ice cream
than the lukewarm black brew
that stewed in a stained pot for hours.
The cheap shit.
Booze is like coffee, but in a more degenerate kinda way.
Nothing like cracking open a cold one with the boys
while practicing music we barely want to create.
It’s really just an excuse to drink.
Or to play a show in some shithole dive — where we can drink more.
A terminal illness, all this poison in my body.
You never think you’re going to become THAT GUY.
Until you do.
And you’re staring at him in the mirror as you light that next cigarette.
Everything has an endgame.
Astrophysicists say once the Universe is done expanding
it’s going to shrink back into itself — back to whence it came.
The Big Shrink.
Maybe that’s what I need, a big shrink of my very own.
Or a surgeon, not a psychiatrist.
The Universe is a doctor — not a bricklayer.
Bones taught me that one.
In some cruel form of irony,
sometimes we put poison in our body to ‘cure’ ourselves
of something hell-bent on killing us on its very own.
Chemo, radiation, immunosuppressants, painkillers to make you numb, Suboxone to wean you off the junk.
It’s all going to lay you in the ground.
We live in a child’s Choose Your Own Adventure Book,
and all the endings suck.
So line up to the altar of the god,
of fast food
of shopping
of the dollar
line up to the altar of the god,
of porn
of pot
of pussy
of cock
line up to the altar of the god,
of truth and lies
of war and peace
of love and hate
line up to the altar of the god,
of democrats
of republicans
of the father, son, and holy ghost
above all Gods
You’re on your knees somewhere,
but you’re right beside me.
Let’s float on this big blue rock
till it shrinks in on us in glorious detox,
your hand in mine.
And I’ll share my poison with you.
