RIP

Death like a leaky pipe creeps virally across the autumn/winter cusp,
An eerie reminder of the fragility of every entity,
From man-made waterworks
To the more natural essence of life,
Anything can crumble and dissipate.
Worldly toxins inject into culture as a stimulant of the mind,
a recreational way to pass the time.
Stricken are we
Once hooked by the deepest sinking lines.
Sunken are we, too bored to get by,
Too miserably discontent to just accept the
Bevy of opportunities we’ve been gifted .
Too misguided and pretentious to merely grab
Hold of the helping hand we’ve been born with
Like a comic book balloon hovering above us since infancy.
A gracious, glowing hand ready to pull us from detentions
to air-conditioned educational facilities
to tampering in your mother’s medicine cabinets.
Why do we reject the helping hand?
Attached to parent, teacher, neighbor, no!
No hand is is skilled enough to answer the question
How am I going to entertain myself tonight?
As if the plethora of media can’t pleasure the mind too screenshook,
They turn to the never passe intoxicants to pass the time.
I will not lecture you as your ears are ringing with phantom noises
I only ask that while you breathe you do something worthy of
Engraving on your epitaph.

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