The Company I Keep
I never had the courage to abandon my misery, because it’s the only company that is able to put up with me. My thinking is that it’s better than being alone. So I pose for paintings, portraits of abuse in every color, a horrible chef but it is eat or starve, dressed in dirty baggy clothes torn and tattered, my pants ripped in the back exposing my ass so everyone can see what an asshole looks like, Spark up the joint, pass the crack pipe, fill the syringe with every drop of forget, are there any lies left in that Vodka bottle? Enough of this crybaby testimony, although I would like to offer one last thought, what I’ve discovered is the only truth is in the streets where I sleep, with new cardboard box smell and diesel exhaust, and if you listen closely in between car horns, sirens and screams, you can hear asphalt confessions whispering “Self-loathing is the sincerest form of flattery” I just no longer get embarrassed from the attention.