Middle Age
I never thought I’d be middle aged.
Always thought I’d burn up in a fireball
of a speeding car, a plane crash,
burn myself out on drugs
in a hotel bathtub,
scramble my brains with alcohol,
vomit out my internal organs,
get shot in a bar fight gone wrong,
killed by a crazy porn star ex girlfriend,
have a brain aneurism during sex,
contract a deadly STD,
drown drunk in a swimming pool,
you know,
like one of those forever twenty seven people,
but here I am pushing fifty,
still having sex like a porn star,
getting high like a rockstar,
letting my art do the talking,
but I have kids, something that resembles a family,
I go to church, pay my bills, have a good day job.
And I’m still trying to figure out
this chaotic tornado of a mess we call life,
still making mistakes and churning off victories,
running and lifting weights and fighting and fucking,
but wondering
where do I go now?
That I most likely have more years behind me
then ahead of me,
and this Grim Reaper I’ve danced with, fought with,
defeated up until now,
keeps coming, keeps knocking.
But I still want to grow, learn, evolve.
So where do I go now?
What do I do now?
The only thing I know how.
Burn the candle at both ends,
a flaming jet stream behind me,
and middle fingers up
like blazing headlights.