I didn’t love you.
I blew my mind over it.
I am not to contact you.
Not another boy loves girl song.
Yeah, a tear
on your pocketbook, too.
Striving to just want happiness for you without me.
Grooves in my mind are yours.
I didn’t want a family.
No kids.
And I am no longer a babe.
Bodies rot.
The shell disintegrates
like watching a tire grind down to a skid mark on the road.
The acrid scent.
Deep down I feel scared, fraudulent
as if
I am not good not good not enough to be called Artist,
Mimic musician.
Told All the Creative People Feel the Same Way.
Everyone and Every Thing was just Fuel, to burn
as a coal for my inspirational furnace.
I didn’t love you
sacrificed you to lead a solitary existence.
Hoping for a vague discovery,
so I will be known, posthumously.
Painting is dead.
Rock n Roll is dead.
There never was a revolution or will be,
a repackaging
“History of Humanity” the BOX-SET.
So FaceTweetSnap_Cloud with your
SMART BRAIN.
ASS.
IN YOUR EYES.
(some of my relatives seemingly brushed me under the rug)
(I do not blame them.)
I rest here in the DUST
Gratefully, Luckily, and Happily So.