Is this how you dreamed you'd die??
Boxed Friends
She was murdered
in a dirty alley,
behind a dumpster
full of Chinese tossouts,
at sixteen with her panties
wrapped around her neck,
and her eyes gazing
high above her,
the last high she'd
ever see, or know
were the clouds that
shadowed her death.
Just another kid
looking to score
who got scored on instead.
They never caught
the dealer of death.
Satin grey surrounds her now,
and a white mold
that is slowly
covering her
lifeless corpse,
forever young
twenty years ago today.
Boxed Friends
He could literally
put his finger
in one nostril,
and out the other,
He loved his nose candy,
and used to laugh at how it
rotted away his
membrane between
his nostrils,
but his constant sniffling
as well as his
endless runny nose,
gave away his misery
till he overdosed,
one night in a
bathroom stall
in the back of a
vacant Sohio station.
They found him
three days later
bloated and black
under the sink,
his finger curled
like a question mark
in his nose, and
out the other side.
Soft powdery white mold
covers him now too,
as the dust of his
bones become
much like the nose candy
that killed him.
Dead at twenty four,
and there is no more.
Boxed Friends
He was the
King of it all,
who could have any
woman he wanted,
he was worth hundreds
of millions,
and was loved by
the whole world.
I stood in the rooms
where he used to
relax, and pop pills
to maintain composure,
and ease the ache
of fame's emptiness.
I stood at his grave
and shook my head.
What more could
a man want??
He wound up curled
around his own toilet,
like a comma around
his commode,
pants down
around his knees,
He choked to death
on his own vomit,
and no one was there
when he died,
or heard his final cries.
Surrounded by servants,
and a lover
in the next room,
as his spirit
sailed beyond flesh,
leaving Memphis
stunned and in mourning
for months.
"Almost Boxed End."
I too stood once
under the influence
of the wrong mix
of crowds and drugs
on a stage one evening,
in concert,
belting out lead vocals,
to a massive crowd,
who were hopping, dancing
and clapping at me.
It was all going
really superb until
I grabbed the wrong flask
to get myself a drink,
and what was in it was
not water, but vodka.
Not at all conducive
to the pills in my system,
and so I collapsed hard,
because of a mixup.
Minutes later when
my heart stopped,
the crowd roared thinking
it was all an act,
but a quick thinking
paramedic standing by,
saw the color of my skin
and the strange
position in which I had fallen,
and gave me
CPR till help could arrive,
and I manged to elude
joining my .....
Needless to say
the concert was over.
and so was my use
of prescription toys
for temporary joys
with the boys.
"Boxed friends."
But another friend...
Pookie was not so lucky,
he was only 19 when he went
into a cheap motel room,
and got a couple of
expensive hits of crack.
Unfortunately it was laced
with too many toxins.
There really is no
FDA to control
who mixes
what with what
and so on his way
back to his car,
his heart literally
exploded in his chest
they said,
and his girlfriend
watched him as he fell,
and died just inches
from her car door.
I went to his funeral,
in the inner city,
and I remember the
stench lying noxiously,
just under the smell
of the many flowers,
all around his coffin.
You see he didn't want
to be embalmed,
it was a religious thing,
but the smell
of his death
still haunts me.
He got red silk to
line his passage
into the earth,
and it must be
stained black now,
with the pigments of
his decomposing.
"Boxed Friends."
.....whose times in this
world are marked
"Do not open until never!"
wasted lives on
temporal highs
creating poems like this that
sadly mark their passing
These are just four of the
ten billion stories, or more
that lie in mouldering graves,
not high but low
in the ground,
not loving and living,
but lying in rot and,
the loose de-boning
of their flesh,
in dank darkness,
and silence forever.
Please don't be
the next chapter,
pause now and
think it over.... and then
write a forward
in your life
indexing the stupidity
that could take it
before the table
of contents becomes
your organs being removed
on a morgue slab.
Thanks for listening.
Art~Whimsically Yours Studio
Matthew F. Blowers III-(c)-2016