As Demons Play Tug-Of-War With Angels

 

As Demons play Tug-Of-War With My Soul.

 

 © -MFB III

 

Five o'clock shadow
wraps it's tentacles
across my face.

Cold cup of black coffee
6 hours old
reflects my glassy stare.  
Half-eaten danish leaves
a foreign taste in my mouth.  
Cheeks left stiffened
from recent saline washes.
Eyes red like a good hit
of sensimilla would get them.  
Phone's silent now
its last ring was so loud
it fractured my heart
~
A good friend has died
at 48...my age,
into a box ,
into the ground ,
dry rot on satin.
His still young face
soon covered with
a white mold
and that's all there is....
that's all he gets.  
I can't imagine it
all ending today
as it did for him.  
Not under this sun's warmth
with bird's choruses
grass stretching
and air sweetened
as it's cut.
Spring abounds .
~
I want to die
in a frickin' blizzard,
kicking and screaming ,
howling with the gales,
as the demons
play tug-of-war
with some angels
on my soul.  
I want to go when
the weather makes you
want to try the other side
damn quick!!
Leave me my Springs
and Summers.
Fill my lungs with
their blessings.
Send me out of here
with the frost
in air so cold
that nostril hairs freeze.
I won't care
my nose will be
stopped up forever.
A bad snow day
that's my highway,
my ticket out
oh, fates please...
grant me this
simple request .
~
but for now
"Godspeed to you
my dear friend.
I'll lay some of
Springs best
on your grave. and in your place 
enjoy twice-fold
this day in which
I now exist
without you.

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