Death

It started as an honest mistake
A few lines scribbled on paper
To tame the beast,
A shower of words meant to portray emotions
And nourish a growing fascination.
But the naked truth had to put on some clothes.
At first, it all had to rhyme
And syllables were measured,
To hide the festering grime
While keeping all ears pleasured.
Yet something seemed very wrong
And it didn’t last for long.
Things had to take a fresh start.
The truth grew tired of her wardrobe
And sought solace through plastic surgery.
It was on.
Free verse was the flavor of the day
But it was not enough,
THEY were listening,
THEY required entertainment.
The truth joined a circus school,
Juggled with pompously elaborate miracles of grammar
And short, dull words;
She crossed the swaying tightrope
Of social criticism;
She tamed the infamous felines
Of primal emotions.
But THEY kept yawning.
And a change of tongue made it even more sour,
Tout ce qu’ils veulent c’est se saouler la gueule
Et la verite ils s’en battent l’oeil.
THEY were predictable,
They could only be baited with myriads of
Sultry, sensual, sexual tales,
Or lured into listening with auditory abuse,
Shit! Fuck! Dick! Cunt!
And they were ready to eat out of anyone’s hand.
The truth was dying slowly…
No.
If my life has to end, my own hands will take it.
I won’t let you ignore me into slow deterioration,
My demise will be grandiose,
A hara-kiri of sorts
Where I’ll slice myself open
And spill my guts on the floor
For the world to finally see.
I will strike the sword into my core
Time and time again
Till the day I may rise
From the ashes of this prostitute past.
But until I do…
Feel free to feed on the remains.