Suicide Tuesday

I'm certainly paying for all the pills I dropped this weekend, slipping into one of those hellish introspective nightmares, an endless grotesque of wretched self-reflection. The piper always gets his dues and he don't accept no cheque. Dumping massive amounts of serotonin into your brain all at once will always bring with it black, bleak, inevitable consequences. When you are in the red, boy oh boy are you truly in the red son, and no amount of shuffling money from one credit card to another can ever settle anything. There are some bills that can only be paid in flesh and for some crimes they make you do hard time locked behind your eyes, well, what can I say, it might be hell, but it's home.

I knew this court bailiff once, crazy motherfucker -- always carried a tire iron -- made himself a necklace from a string of broken hearts. After a while the hearts turned rotten and green but he just kept on wearing them. You think it will last forever like the pyramids but after a while the couch just stops coughing up the spare change. No trick officer, the only thing I got in these pockets is a fist, a matchstick and a handful of smoke. Nothing left in this old house worth pawning. We already burned all the good lawn furniture. Looks like you're going to have to send me down town.

I know a girl so achingly achingly beautiful, seems to me like she swallowed up a little piece of the moon. And if you look up closely on a dark clear night you will see that missing silver, or at least I think I do.