A single rose

A single rose. . . . .for josh

I planted a single rose. I needed thirty more.
It was hard for me but I suppose what made it easier,
. . . . . . . I had seen the row of rose before.

It was my humble way to keep track of tracks
And count the numbers of the dead from the demons, precious score.
One by one they had come to me,
All lonely, frightened, little elves with no fucking apple tree.
Twisted, bent with souls for rent.
Crying, dying, pleading, bleeding!
One common hope, to kill the demon feed,
To kill the demon need and never need more fucking dope!
A plea for a little hope.

I planted a single rose for the elf who tried to fly
While driving off a cliff as he fed his manik high.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . He fucking died!

I planted six for those who couldn’t satisfy their fix.
Instead they slit their wrists and clenched their fists
And now they’re dead,
Not to mention the ones with bullets in their heads.

Another four decided to tie the magik knots of death
Around the silence of their screaming throats and kicked the chair.
Too late, not a soul was fucking there!

I heard it once from a book of tragic words of life.
“A rose by any other name be not the same,”
The same with tortured, little elves through out their life,
So lost deep within themselves.
They felt the need to stash themselves and slash themselves away
With the dullest of the gun and knife.

The demon doesn’t give a flying fuck about which name we use.
His one and only goal is to help the junkie, fairy, trollish elf to lose,
To take his fucking life!

To all the little elves out there, let me show to you, the humble fairy cares.
Beware!
. . . . . . . . . . Don’t help me plant a rose for you.
To live or die or crave the rotten, demon high!
Little elf, it’s time for you to choose!
The number is now at thirty-five.
Don’t be the next to die.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . Don’t be the next to lose!

. . . .for the little, shyish, joshish elf (rest in peace september 17, 2010)

bilbo, the changeling . . . . . . . . . “thanks jack”