Monument

My poetry is my monument, it will always stand tall.
Life was long until the end when it all started to fall.
Mental illness was always my worst enemy.
An empire of dirt was built with not even a penny.
My emotions and creativity blended into one.
Proud fucking father, great friend and good son.

Thousands of pages of my very own history.
And I love the fact no one really knows me.
Once I'm dead and gone and you read through the books.
You’ll be amazed, in disbelief, probably a bit shook.
A humble narcissist with an appetite for self destruction.
Barely holding on the bang at the door, they rush in.

It’s too late now for your worries. I'm already gone.
One last wish, take my poetry and turn it into songs.
Let my life shine like it couldn’t have ever before.
Because mental illness kept my best behind closed doors.
If I knew you and you knew me, know that shit is great.
Life is short. What will you do before your great escape?