C.O.D.

C.O.D.


I knew a woman 

who was so fascinated with youth

she stopped counting days 

as if in her own way 

to put off age,

weighing me

was her measure to see

the purpose of why 

human beings bleed,

push, scratch, and kick, 

yell, scream, and spit obscenities,

I busted a toe on my way out 

and while her words bruised my ego,

they could never hurt me.

The fact that we could be 

only a chapter 

in someone else’s autobiography 

shouldn’t keep us from trying,

and while today’s scene 

chooses that last Instagram meme

over Greek philosophy, 

you thought you dreamt in pictures 

while I think in words 

and see dead people in my newsfeed.

Tell me I’m crazy 

if I think I can make it 

writing poetry and screenplays

while I spend my days driving on the freeway,

I just know

that I’d like to die with no regrets, 

and how I don’t want to forget that smile 

on your face when we first met, 

like the promise of spring 

your skin beaconed to me,

but I don’t know if the sun 

will burn past summer,

because while what the world wants 

is quick fix I’m a slow roll,

but baby once we hit the downhill

you’re in for one a hell of a time. 

Like litter on the roadside,

we didn’t put it there,

but if we say we’re going to care

then we’ll jump off our high horse 

put our hands in the gloves 

and do the work,

has this been worth it,

has the time 

that’s been invested 

been worth the energy expenditure

or if you’ve calculated the ROI

and not liked what you’ve seen 

with your own eyes

then don’t even stop the car,

but piss in a bottle 

roll down the window 

and throw it over the windshield.

You’d think 

with the gloom and doom 

on the news,

that in the street 

you’d hate me

and I’d be oppressing you, 

but our generation 

is too stuck up

their own asses to be racist,

a 9 to 5 face that is 

at odds with 

how the most recent 

OnlyFans post hits,

and that Mr. Frost said,

“Has made all the difference.”

But tell me that this hasn’t  been 

the same kind of diversion, 

a beginning I’ve seen enough times 

so like a psychic I think 

I can predict the ending,

you would have never guessed 

that the one with the biggest fears 

is the man who can overcome them,

a contradiction to believe 

that a diagnosis from the coroner 

is more than just a job duty, 

life meaning more about than

just laying underneath a sheet,

a hand writing 

the Cause of Death 

without even blinking: 

PROCRASTINATION.

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Mirror, Mirror on the Wall