EATTING

Your eyes are open, but they are no longer reasonable to see the dead walking is me. My time has come. I'm eating my pork and beans. It feels like I have been chewing on cages and concrete all my life. I'm not stepping down; I'm stepping up as I slowly come undone because I no longer run on empty, so stop talking to me as if we were old school friends for every end as a start and every start as an end.

I'm sitting here eating my pie, counting the stars in the sky, knowing that I will never take a knee to anyone again, so that cross and the barriers you best send. I no longer need to wake up in cold sweats. Some memories are just meant to be forgotten.

I'm sitting here on my front porch eating my apple pie, no longer covered in the whipped cream of your lies, polishing my gun, ready to shoot any bastard that pays no rent to the thoughts of the mind. And it's a cold fall morning, and finally, once again, I'm starting to feel mighty fine.