My own funeralA Poem by BlueZan
The alley is too dark but
I walk through it, anyways. The bath scalds my skin but I sit in it, anyways. Both serve as reminders that I'm still Alive when I've awoken from yet another dream where I'm watching my own funeral from inside my casket or When I can't explain why I feel most Attractive with a hangover. It Probably has something to do with how warm this rock is, Down here at the bottom but Rock bottom is a place I look up to from Hell where the fire burns weed and the brimstone is Made of Vicodin and I feel at home for the first time in A long time. Finally. Cross country, cross body, cross stitched and pulled open and restitched and Bleeding, laughing, chain smoking, whiskey straight from the bottle, cheap beer and As long as he's here and he loves me, I Couldn't be happier. The best part of my rock at the bottom of the dark alley flooded with Scalding hot water is that my pen still works and If I'm writing, I'm alive. I'm always okay. Even at my own funeral. © 2016 BlueZanReviews
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Added on January 17, 2016Last Updated on February 1, 2016 |