D.O.D.

This is my best estimate of all that might occur

Someone might see my broken body in the road or sidewalk

Someone will get called to “scrape the meat off the street”

Someone will identify the heap of flesh

From the wallet and the sweater

And the kick-ass high-tops

Someone will inform the school, they’ll tell my parents

To come collect my things

Someone will inform my roommates

That their clown will not be returning

My friends will put two and two together

When I don’t respond to their messages or calls

I will no longer bother, disturb, disgust, annoy

Those who took the time to get to know this piece of trash

I was a bad person whose crimes were irredeemable

Whose sins were unforgivable

Whose hands will never be clean

Left to wallow as a monster

Making low, wet groans as the panic sets in

Morose and lost, our good knight, was he,

Suicide will be the closing act

To relieve my coarse, malformed heart of its own judgement

Whether its path leads to salvation or a flaming coffin.

Observing fuller, more vibrant forms enjoy life

A wretched smile spread from arch to arch, process to process

whose splayed skin and mangled teeth could easily fit a gun between

The call of the grave cannot be ignored

A shrill static that rakes the mind

ALL IS DUST AND QUIET

Endless anguish overwhelms, I gaze in mystic portal

The pain of horrific torture,

The Green Feeling washes over my hollow corpse

A memory of a broken soul trapped in broken body

I shed tears as the room grows smaller

I dance with demons in the dark

And the kick-ass high-tops