GI100 Book #2...random attempts at poetry. |
7-13-17 Nobody's gonna be happy you're alive and we're not gonna dance on your grave when you die. You weren't around to consume all that you're not allowed to ruin. You speak the illest of people like me while inhalin' your free disease. Like a pinprick gettin' a cramp you're ten-thousand of 'em in my lap. If I coulda cured you with a drug I'd snort it and smoke ya to the stub. Nobody's gonna be happy you're alive and we're not gonna dance on your grave when you die. Thank you for not letting us forget why. If every dog has fleas you're three and more to me with audacity. On top of a mountain you stand alone full of everything you do not know and your shoes are made of the shit you say- like your mountain; like your days. Your story is lyrics, your mind is prose, you're living meaningless, insecure, and exposed. Nobody's gonna be happy you're alive and we're not gonna dance on your grave when you die. The first breath fresh from the coma was hell and in the next you thanked yourself. You said you weren't long to live like this; to our chagrin, we were non-existent. Not like we waited but you knew we'd mind; we're not self-righteous in the same kind. Off we'll go, not being acknowledged... alive or dead, no difference to speak of. Nobody's gonna be happy you're alive and we're not gonna dance on your grave when you die. Dying might change the way you live but your death won't change your life. Thank you for not letting us forget why. |