Life sound

and we see, and set,
maybe sit, depends upon where you are in the country
to travel, to thrive, to die.
I died once before you know,
in the land that didn’t sleep
I laid down and died…
before getting in my car and leaving
for the middle of something.
My life, I think, or some variation thereof,
and in it I fell in hate, and then in love,
and felt my body rebel against it,
it, the immortality I once sort of sought,
but not really,
not in the sense of seeking that we all played
when the hardest thing to do was come off the streets.
It was for a purpose when I realized my physical heart
would fail me early in life.
I broke it too many times,
filled myself with the poisons of the world
without ever comprehending that one day
my body would actually cease to exist.
Ironic, the suicidal pissed off at dying
because it isn’t on terms agreed upon.
Life is taken, in every sense,
so here is to the moment,
and the penny we paid for wisdom
on the side of cereal boxes.

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