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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.






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