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death of a stoner

i

the sensations of early morning,
the smell of fresh cut grass,
light heart attacks,
slow expiration of life

ii

early morning,
the windows at the convenience mart
were fogged -
reminiscent of northern areas,
childhood snowball fights,
wood stoves, and christmas mornings

it's not quite winter yet though
and there won't be any snow,
not this year

iii

sometimes we have to kill the brain
in order to be happy

(and sometimes we have to die
in order to live)

i'm drowning in euphoria,
we're all drowning in euphoria,
drowning in euphoria

sometimes we fly
(or feel like it)
and sometimes we have to die
(i think it's time to say goodbye)

iv

sometimes we invest so much in people:
family, friends, co-workers,
complete strangers
(maybe everyone is a stranger in the end)

we become so much a part of people
that a part of us dies with them

the years get easier,
but dried wounds don't like salt either

v

somehow i want you to believe
that being a drunk makes me deep,
that being broken inside
is an essential part of being an artist
(i don't think i believe it anymore,
and maybe i never did)

i'm pretty drunk right now
and things look pretty bright

oh, shit!
things are going to be dreary again
in the morning,
aren't they?

vi

sometimes, life is
a disgusting piece of shit
and other times
there are unexpected lights
in dark alleys
and crevices
that a human being can scarcely fit into

but people do fit into them
and we look at those people
with pity,
throw loose change at them
and call them "scum of the earth"

what is the meaning of death?

8/5/15
8/10/15
8/21/15

Poetry by Thomas Perdue