Sunday, December 30, 2007

All gifts end...

I feel it necessary to note this (again), tonight--an anonymous bit that's floated around the internet for a long time.

fuck the poets of the past, my friends.
there are no beautiful suicides
just cold corpses with shit in their pants
and the end of the gifts.

But what about those of us who hang on and on, can't let go? There will likely come a day when I will have to say, no more treatment. Or there may come a day when bottles of pills may be the preferable way to avoid a death devoid of dignity. I don't suppose that's what this anonymous poet was speaking of...but there's a part of me that spends an inordinate amount of time wondering about this stuff. What happened to staying in the moment, May?

Get back to where you once belonged...

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