UNOMAS
09-25-2007, 10:16 PM
...
Nascentes morimur
Gazing into the cavernous mouth of the whale,
that back alley where men's lives flash and pass,
you turn left and are drawn into the black hole.
On the right is a dumpster full of dead GI Joes
and broken action figures, as dusty and abandoned
as all those fire-fighting, siren filled dreams.
Baseball cards of some druggie you wanted to be like
Snow down from up high as the grey floor fades to black.
Work attire and dress shoes fade like dusk
into Chuck Taylors and those ripped jeans
as a no-seat bike flies by, wheels on the wind.
Then the black becomes thick, veiled.
The shadows of the young and restless:
An hourglass with porcelain skin,
reflects the red light of that Friday night.
Pills, hash, needles; you name it you tried it,
and now they're nearly drowning you,
up to your waste, up to your neck...
ONE LAST BREATH.
Well you achieved one of your ambitions.
I'm sure they'll stamp your face
on some baseball card for the kids.
Dead at age nineteen in some back alley,
A revolution of the soul and a brain full of ammunition.
Memento mori
Nascentes morimur
Gazing into the cavernous mouth of the whale,
that back alley where men's lives flash and pass,
you turn left and are drawn into the black hole.
On the right is a dumpster full of dead GI Joes
and broken action figures, as dusty and abandoned
as all those fire-fighting, siren filled dreams.
Baseball cards of some druggie you wanted to be like
Snow down from up high as the grey floor fades to black.
Work attire and dress shoes fade like dusk
into Chuck Taylors and those ripped jeans
as a no-seat bike flies by, wheels on the wind.
Then the black becomes thick, veiled.
The shadows of the young and restless:
An hourglass with porcelain skin,
reflects the red light of that Friday night.
Pills, hash, needles; you name it you tried it,
and now they're nearly drowning you,
up to your waste, up to your neck...
ONE LAST BREATH.
Well you achieved one of your ambitions.
I'm sure they'll stamp your face
on some baseball card for the kids.
Dead at age nineteen in some back alley,
A revolution of the soul and a brain full of ammunition.
Memento mori