the has-been

when he was younger &

the spice of the moment

the cameras did capture him a million times over

his music made the charts

his paintings sold for way more than they could ever have been worth &

the world care about what he had to say

for all but a brief moment---he shocked & some might say he

rocked, and that’s the way the cookie

crumbles---

when he was big, he had the kitties coming up to suckle

he never spent a night alone

he snorted blow off their chests like it was going out of style,

hitching up the reindeer & off to the market

from the stage to the rave & from the rave to the stage

the whole while dizzy from sexual exhaustion &

a body full of chemicals

foreign to the body but needed for the fill &

then suddenly,

no one gave a s**t about him anymore.

 

the magazines removed his face

the news reporters walked by him now

on the way to a younger, more shocking thing &

the internet barely whispered

because what he had been no longer buzzed

like the buzzing bee he had once seemed to be,

and now, the kitties stopped suckling,

pulling away from that bowl of milk

like it had turned overnight &

he found himself sleeping more & more nights with an

empty bed,

while the chemical level in his bloodstream

rose as fast as his has-been status.

 

now the fallen wreckage of a once talented artist

roams round hollywood or whatever plastic place he can find young aspiring ladies who want nothing to do with him any longer,

on his knees & begging please

for one more roll in the hay

one more night to bring all his senses to a hilt

reminding him of when he was the s**t

when he had something to say that people wanted to hear,

or at least pretended to,

long enough so that he could get some decent drugs &

a few supermodels---

now,

the old geezer watches with teary eyes

the younger versions of him

getting what he still wants

but he can no longer have,

because the rules apply to all who have lived the

life.