always the bridesmaid, never the bride
he dresses in your sister’s clothes
and sneaks up behind you
with piano wire
he strangles you
just when things were beginning
to go so well.
lies. lies. lies. lies.
it’s life that’s the killer;
so dramatic, so whiny
callin you at two in the morning
when you gotta work the early shift.
calling lonely and horny
when you gotta work the graveyard shift
and shit, man
you know you gotta call in
because seize the day
carpe diem-
am i right?
but no-
death is the asshole.
the one who punches you
in the kidneys,
makes you piss blood
not true!
not true in the fucking least
life has just perfected
her death costumer.
but life is the day
and death is the night
right?
wrong.
if life is the day
and death is the night
then why do you crave
a little more two a.m.
and a little less
six thirty in the godless
morning?
death is your ally.
your friend
who just wants
to get you drunk.
tell you
to dump that bitch.
she’s just playing games
with your head, man.
life.
shit, man.
life is your friend
sometimes.
death is always waiting
by the phone
for you to call and
hear me, you:
when life stabs you in the back,
when she
sleeps with your best friend
and turns off your alarm
so you’re late for work.
when life cancels your insurance
just before driving your car
into the first brick wall
she finds.
when she strikes you
with sodium penethol,
truth serum,
just before
your lifetime achievement speech
and calls your mom
and tells her you murdered someone
and the cops catch on
and they break into your house
in the middle of the night
and arrest you for the crime
that life committed,
hear me, you, brothers and sisters.
death will be the friend
who takes a taxi
to the penitentiary
to try and bail
your sorry ass out.
life is the terrorist who hijacks the plane.
death is the friend who is waiting
on the other side
with a sign
with your name on it.
COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013
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