A BIG FUCKIN' LIE

Everything is one big, fuckin' lie
and you know it
because you have always lived it.
And then there are
the constant worries
about the children
besides the drinking
and the drugs
and the financial concerns
and the failing health
and a million other things.
Where is the peace?
There is no fuckin' peace!
It's all illusion and delusion
inevitably wrapped in death.
I look at my children
and I see death
staring at me in the face.
I could write a thousand other things
and hopefully I will,
unless death gets me first.
I could write
a series of short, dark poems
on this rainy day,
but I probably won't
because my nerves are shot
and I can't count on you
for some dirty sex now,
which would offer me
a brief respite
from this pounding headache.
Should I take another Xanax?
The first one isn't working.
I'm not going
mano-a-mano
with you.
I'm venting.
It isn't personal.
How does thinking about the deaths
of our children reflect on you?
I'm allowing
the dead matter
in my head
to pour out
of my mouth.
I can't be happy
and optimistic
all the time.
Would you rather
I text someone else?
Since you're not here to provide me
with a temporary refuge deep in your pussy,
I will take that other Xanax
and seek my escape through sleep.
I'm riding a wave.
I hope I don't drown.
I give thanks that I'm retired
and I can comfortably wrestle
with the devil in my bed
unless he pokes a hole
in my inflatable mattress
with his horns or his tail.
Maybe I'll take all my texts
and write one long poem a la T.S. Eliot.
Only my commitment to art
can possibly lift me out of bed
as I lie here weighed down
with yet another hangover.
I think I have my long,
perhaps rather disjointed, poem.
Let me know if you're visiting
in the afternoon,
so I can take a Viagra.
Anticipating a good, hard fuck
gives me hope.
I want you to agree
to consensual rape
because the sex
will be that nasty.
I think the second Xanax is working.
I'm beginning to feel better.
New title:
The Day Before I Unexpectedly Committed Suicide.
Your suggestion is humorous:
The Day Before I Lost My Mind.
Based on your many years
of first-hand observation,
deleting "unexpectedly" has merit.
I've appreciated your insights
during our time together,
almost as much as
I have appreciated
ravishing your body.
Done.

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