Please Return To Sender
Updated on January 23, 2010
Return To Sender.
Like a comma
curled around a commode,
his last exclamation
muffled by vomit,
his face flushed
from a lack of oxegen,
hips swiveling
desperately to get
his drug numbed
legs beneath him,
as he performed
his final dance of death
for the porcelain God,
while his love lay sleeping
just outside
in the other room.
Did he walk the
halls of Graceland
as a spirit in remorse,
when he left
this earthly plane,
all his wonders
and achievments
just physical
trophies on walls,
he could no
longer touch.
He was simply
taking care of business,
when he died in
the most mortal of ways,
Struck down by
the escape he sought,
in pills, thrills and
prescription fills,
he was set
free from the pain
of being the king.
His crown now
a headstone,
a jail house rock
in a quiet corner
of a garden,
in the prison
where he languished
as the world's
most wanted man.
©-MFB III