Waiting
My father died of Cancer.
His mother, my grandmother,
died of Cancer.
I will die of Cancer.
They suffered horrible deaths.
I will suffer a horrible death.
I’ve come to terms with this.
I’ve contemplated suicide—
as I’m sure they must’ve as well.
Both had nothing to live for
except alcohol, cigarettes, family, friends—
life itself.
I live for these things too—
but also for my philosophy,
the written word—
the chance to exist unhindered—
an unborn audience—
to live dead forever
with Nietzsche, Plato,
Alexander the fucking great.
But that’s stupid.
Pointless.
The human animal
isn’t worth saving.
Yet,
still I go on.
Waiting
to see
what happens
next.
Horror Sleaze Trash 