bitter old man

see note for reviewers.

hostile,

pungent,

nasty,

&

redefining the art of having a

chip on his shoulder

he marches through the last specks of his burnt out existence

telling us all how we should live our lives

(spouting his rotting “wisdom” at everyone he sees)

while

regretting

so very much of his

own---

with wrinkled ancient skin

flabby & sagging

dark blue veins popping out

just beneath the surface of his

decrepit self

lost in the deadening reflection of the polluted river he kneels by

wondering why his wife left him

wondering why he can’t get it up anymore

the dirty homophobe walking on the college school grounds

trying to flirt with young girls

trying to remember what it was like

when he could smell the roses

but

now

all

the

roses

have

wilted

& he can’t get past the fact that things are changing

that things have changed

and he’s lost in the moment

of really being scared,

terrified in the corner

flipping out with his pathetic attempts at wit

condemning us all to the hell he clenches on to

he has to believe that it exists

because it’s the only

justice

left for him

but with the reality that his

superannuated ideas

just don’t

cut

the

mustard

anymore---

trying to pelt us with his cane

trying to keep free from the rain

and yet all the voices in his brain

don’t allow him any peace from the pain

which really fuels all of this

disdain

and

narcissistic need for death to come

sooner than later

and some will say he is no longer loved

and some will wonder just how he got to where he is

and some will see that what he has become is simply

unsavory

and it’s just better to walk away when he enters the room

but

i have no sympathy for such bitterness

i have no sympathy for laziness that comes with self-pity

and

waiting for that clock to tick that last tick

i’m walking down a narrow street in st. petersburg

looking for

raskolnikov

cause’ i got this old b*****d’s number in my hand

and his time is up

i think we’ve had enough

i’ll polish the candelabra for my young friend

hell, i’ll sharpen his axe,

and stand watch, outside the b*****d’s building

ready to alert him

if anyone catches onto our

“dastardly deed.” 

Author's Note

"Where is it I've read that someone condemned to death says or think, an hour before his death, that if he had to live on some high rock, on such a narrow ledge that he'd only room to stand, and the ocean, everlasting darkness, everlasting solitude, everlasting tempest around him, if he had to remain standing on a square yard of space all his life, a thousand years, eternity, it were better to live so than to die at once! Only to live, to live and live! Life, whatever it may be!"

- Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment