I took a detour on my way
to heaven, found a broken bar
with half-dead stools and ash
piled in corners like lost years.
The jukebox croaked Sinatra’s ghost,
beer flattened on my tongue like
every bad decision I married.
A woman with cracked red nails
and eyes that forgot their shine
asked if I was waiting for death.
\"Just the bus,\" I said, smiling.
Outside, the streets whispered sin,
alleys coughed up their regrets,
and the neon blinked like a last
heartbeat trying to outrun nothing.
Maybe heaven was too clean,
too polished for a man like me.