Living In A Brown Paper Bag

Those dirty old hands tightly secured his best bottle of malt yet...known for sitting comfortably on his a*s while flipping through his mental play list, having the same ole outdated ways on repeat. A life itself was something of the past, for he was just as hollow as the heart of a black panther sporting the latest white hooded suit...No need of poking holes to see, for his jet black fantasy put his sight in the choke hold a while back. Each and every night he prayed for expiration in his sleep...Sadly a kid belonging to the "make a wish foundation" would have been granted before he would. What was the old crow to do? Being old, black, and far from appealing grouped his options down to a minimum. He kept his sliver spoon though he forgot what the juices from the fillet Mignon tasted like nested inside of it...That silver spoon equated to Nana keeping pictures of her cute little grandchildren in her purse...Memories...If his life was a movie, it would have been another curious case of Benjamin Button. Known at one point as a man of great importance, but will forgotten as a man of many failures...A beautiful casket looked upon by love ones would be a dreadful thought for many...For this old man it was beyond a hearse and a curse...it beats being buried where ever you shall drop any day. A fallen solder, where's the flag? Time served , but where's the sound of the rifle? Sadly this is what happens when you're a fallen soldier of war...The war of life..."Well my bottle of malt is almost finished...Excuse me ma'am do you have some change?? I haven't ate in days"...