walking the streets alone
no one to talk to now
one hand full of memories and the other a fifth
you say your name is bob
a genius
a painter
ill sit and talk with you for a while
you say you're sick
need to get better but the doctor hooked you up
regret the things you forgot but rock and roll won't
who am I to decide if you're alright?
don't ask again
feel their stare
they've seen you around
you know their counterfeit smiles you're no dummy
I'm not a bullshit artist!
you're not doing so bad
you say you don't do dope
had a good time but its time to go
you said your name is bob
you're a junkie
*Originally Posted on May 21st, 2006.
At the time I was working with 102.3 WBAB in the promotions department. On our event that day a homeless guy/junkie came over to our tent and stayed with us the entire 3-hour event. He talked with us and told us his life story. He was getting up the courage to ask for a ride or some money. I think he enjoyed talking with us but being a junkie what he really needed was a lift somewhere and some dollars. I went home and I wrote this poem about him.
This past weekend in Atlantic City, 7 years later on the boardwalk that same homeless guy Bob comes up to us asking for some money. I gave him what change I had which wasn't much, he was still telling his painting story. He said he was an artist and/or a great house painter. Lost it all because of drugs and alcohol.
My Most Popular Stuff
-
I'm posting this now and getting a little bit of a head start on the rest of you who will be posting something like this on new years ev...
-
I've used cannabidiol (CBD) for about a year now. I've used tinctures, oil, dabs, vape products, and Omega fatty oils and smoked ... -
If I remember correctly this was my third day of college. I attended the former C.W. Post campus of Long Island University now know... -
THE SEEDS HAVE GERMINATED! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! After three days of letting a...
Monday, April 15, 2013
Friday, April 5, 2013
April Showers
Where were we when you died all alone?
All alone on the cold basement floor.
Cold and blue like an old dish rag.
Those unknown final moments haunt me now and forever.
Did you regret your stubbornness or accept your infinite finality?
Did you have time?
To think of such things or cry for help?
Was there a warm welcoming light or the monstrous eternal black nothingness?
Now you wait without want in a cold sterilized darkness without having heard your goodbyes.
So, we attempt a fairwell with antiquated rituals.
For this will never suffice all our woulda coulda shoulda's.
Though unspoken all we are left with are images left running wild
Of the cold and lonely basement floor.
All alone on the cold basement floor.
Cold and blue like an old dish rag.
Those unknown final moments haunt me now and forever.
Did you regret your stubbornness or accept your infinite finality?
Did you have time?
To think of such things or cry for help?
Was there a warm welcoming light or the monstrous eternal black nothingness?
Now you wait without want in a cold sterilized darkness without having heard your goodbyes.
So, we attempt a fairwell with antiquated rituals.
For this will never suffice all our woulda coulda shoulda's.
Though unspoken all we are left with are images left running wild
Of the cold and lonely basement floor.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)