i’ve handed each of my demons a paintbrush
i’ve offered my suicide a bouquet of bok choy
i’ve poured cups of chamomile for bad memories
i’ve unlaced death’s combat boots & given it a stack of books
i’ve vacuumed up the debilitating dust
i’ve exchanged ashtrays for flowerpots
i’ve torn up my bukowski jacket for cleaning rags
look, i’m drinking a bottle of cool water
tho you’d rather me be lobbing malotov cocktails at the ceiling
a pathetic cliché dancing in my own flames
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2 comments:
I launched right into the words without a glance at the title or author. Halfway through, I thought, "Damn good stuff." Then I saw Rob's name and it all made sense.
Damn fine work, Rob.
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