Forget about it.
You think I will tell you
About pain that I hold dear,
That I have cradled within my chest
Like a cherished treasure?
Go to sleep bro,
We dying slow.
Don't tell me to shut up!
You think you will get an applause
For the number of years spent,
For the amounts of money made,
For the children you birthed?
They don't care about all of that.
But it was good though, yes?
Men let it go,
We dying slow.
I could choke you now.
Keep your warped thoughts
Within that crooked brain.
Do not pollute this lovely night
With the darkness you seem
In all your weirdness,
To know so well.
Let us enjoy this beauty
Before darkness descends.
We are aware, yes sir,
That we dying slow.
Strike the match
On the matchbox
Let the yellow spark
Light the shadowed night.
Cup the baby flame
Like a motherhen, her chicks
Then feed the cigarette tip
And let the glow
Perforate the face of your lungs.
Pour the crystals on glass,
Draw a line with a razor blade,
Roll a thousand naira note
And snort till your nose bleeds.
Wash your gums with it,
Get high on it,
Get laid on it,
Grow cold and stiff on it.
We are dying slow
With each inhaled breath
And when we go
We leave a cold black hearth.
Oh father tell me
Am I saved?
Am I one of the Saints?
Is my name written?
Oh father tell me
Am I free?
Or is heaven another chain?
Is hell already here?
Oh father tell me
Will I grow grey and scrawny?
Will my children live?
Will I die tonight?
I am not feeling too good. I have not been feeling good for far too long. I am tired of trying. It's not worth the trouble. What will tomorrow bring? I care not. I need a good toke. There's three poems to keep you busy. Good night.
