I don’t want to die but I’ve been told soon.
That’s it. There’s no more to say.
Everything said after your doctor’s pronouncement
is a cheap toy, a pointless war, and forgotten.
“Eat healthy, exercise, fuck all night, and die.”
No matter medications, poverty kills.
Try generic, I am generic and living in denial.
Unless you were born in the back of Lincoln Continental,
there is no golden spoon, no preferential kiss from a nurse,
no balloons tied to your golf cart and the beat goes on.
Take me god to the Trump Towers in Moscow,
whip me until I bleed, call me naughty, and fire up the furnace.
The oven waits with a gruesome three thousand dollar smile