Archive
03/28/09 - (2)
Fuckup
Tonight, I'm terrified to the very depths of my marrow, And why shouldn't I be? I have nothing more to lose, at my age, but my life.
I've arrived, at this advanced vantage point, Having exhausted all my possibilities for success, celebrity, Lost every dream on which I ever bet,
And all I have to show for my desperate sweat and breath Are a few million sorrows, regrets, And a tin can on the end of a stick resting over my shoulder,
Containing the paltry residue of my earthly estate: A pack of Tic Tacs, half a dozen rubber bands and paper clips, Maps of No-Man's-Land, Terra Incognita, and Nowhere.
What can I say, in my considerable degradation? By any other name, a fuckup is still the same — a fuckup — And a claim to fame is lame, when your name is No Name.
Tonight, I'm frightened to the base of my brainstem, Mortified that, as life has, death will reject me, Which means that even calling it quits won't be an option.
03/28/09 - (2)
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