The Death Of Me

3-2-1 We came to fuck
Everybody party till the gasman comes
Sparkle like Bowie in the morning sun
And get a parking violation on La Brea till it’s done
Hair back, collar up, jet black, so cool!
Sing it like the kids that are mean to you!

~*~

There is this tacit agreement within these hospital halls

An echoing of secrets bouncing off the sordid tiled walls

The telly, tabloids, radios, they’re all straining to eavesdrop

A sensational press release to be taken with Ritalin drops

.

The news at eleven is blatting their usual bullshit and nonsense

Your scowling mugshot showing on every black and white prints

Calculated analysis pours in, idiot savants paying their two cents

Highfalutin judgement via observing your colourless eyes’ stints

.

You ask for more oxygen, instead they provided methane

Burning embers flare with every pained breath you inhale

A skeletal hand reaches out, a last damaged angel reverie

“I’ll miss you honestly, but you’re gonna be the death of me.”

.

Stay still on the Dekapote, let’s test out your anatomy

And dissect the postmortem of your decaying sanity

But it’s not penicillin that is curing ails in elimination

It’s your synthetic test lab love’s biohazard radiation

.

There’s something to be said about the pills we consume

A soupçon of this, a little panacea, inhaled asthma fumes

It’s destroying your baby girl, ingénue rendered quondam

Repeat Rx, errant pharmacy alibis, drink until ad nauseam

.

So fly across the turnpike, hold tight, increase maximum velocity

We have an expiration date chasing us, so let’s indulge in alacrities

My rented heart has four chambers, but none with an open vacancy

I’m sorry, but don’t you see? You’re gonna be the death of me

.

It leaked to the media, their most darling charismatic starlet

Accrued some terrible habits, a degrading scandalous mess

She’s gone mad, she’s insane, I’ll bet it’s all that pure cocaine

Conspirators pass the rumours around like shots of codeine

.

But who cares? Let’s smile at the camera and dance like tumbleweeds

Annihilate the festering bourgeoisie that writ[h]e and sic[k] and f[r]eed

If it’s ingestible, it’s presentable, but let’s break this rhapsodic melody

If they think who’s who is gonna be, then who’s who’s the death of me

.

Just take out those glory guns of yours, embrace that cool revolver

Fuck what all the haters say my dear, you’re this generation’s solver

Red flags of vendetta and anarchy, you lead this boulevard’s parade

Pulling at my dislocated hand to listen to the public effigy you paid

.

It burgeons and blots away, a failing prototype of human nature’s stumbling runs

Mortalities ain’t for centuries anyhow, so in the meantime, let’s have unlimited fun

A suicide pact for two idiotic lovers, hell, why not? We’re gonna die anyways, baby!

Set me free, let me be, I’m crazy, don’t you see honey? You’re gonna be the death of me!

~*~

When you wanna be a movie star
Play the game and take the band real far
Play it right and drive a Volvo car
Pick a fight at an airport bar
The kids don’t care if you’re all right honey
Pills don’t help but it sure is funny
Gimme gimme some of that vampire money
Come on!

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s