As Demons Play Tug-Of-War With Angels

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

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.