Dead in a Week

If I lived on what
the county gave me,
I’d be dead in a week,
so I work myself into the
ground, just to make ends meet.

I cling to a love I lost
and hunger for my next drink,
thriving in the eye of
another strung-out guy.
“Shoot me now,
I’m ready to die.”

Sleep fights me,
wrestles me to the ground,
but I’m not going down
with a dyin’ man’s eyes
looking back into mine.

I cling to a love I lost
and hunger for my next drink,
thriving in the eye of
another hellbent child.
“Shoot me now,
I’m ready to die.”

If I told ’em the truth,
they’d see I’ve lost my mind.
I go willingly down this dead-end street,
cause it’s more of a reality
than any life I lead.

I cling to a love I lost
and hunger for my next drink,
thriving in the eye of
another lover’s fight.
“Shoot me now,
I’m ready to die.”

Perceptions skewed ’cause
I know too much of the truth,
everybody’s guilty on a routine call,
God knows I’ve tried, but I just
can’t shake the evil I’ve seen in us all.

I cling to a love I lost
and hunger for my next drink,
thriving in the eye of
another sleepless night.
“Shoot me now,
I’m ready to die.”

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One thought on “Dead in a Week

  1. This weekend, I woke up in the middle of the night with some words going around in my head. I started jotting them down and this poem was the result. It’s how I see things for those who have worked in occupations (law enforcement) where they see a side of life and people that others never really do. And how coming back from that to the person they were before is almost impossible.

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