a death

I have the
sympathy of sycophants
sickle cell synapses
I pay for serotonin now,
I smoke my own laxatives

I surrender to Saturn
surrounded by liquid and pill shaped company
who'd have thought misery
could be such a costly commodity

the product of American doctrine
the excess, the fools' gold
me first
I won't grow old

Forgive me mother,
I'll die young;
I'll die cold.

x o