Getting Flippant With It

I take notes to lose them
like burnt offerings of ideas and thoughts
as Achilles tickled Menelaus
with a clever Connect-the-Dots
as you can see my memory's flawless
I never make a mistake
luckily I'm a poet
so I haven't any living to make



the only demons I've met are in my own mind
they were generated by traumas and desires unclaimed
the most awful things seem to be uncaring and blind
to the bodies their gorging leaves to the flames
but hope is sticking around long enough to find
that life is most loved when it is maintained



it's no wonder nobody could love him
he was wedded off at birth
Sister Death in her emerald tatters
used to wander all over the earth
now she glides and she grins alongside him
and lovingly sings him his dirge




UGLY argentine, heavy thick
dangling around his neck
twenty six years in my head
still eight years after he is dead
I wonder what it meant to him
was it because he wasn't thin?
to me it meant that my true self
was hid inside of someone else
now I'm still ugly but I'm me
and that is all I want to be