The tortured soul returned today
and he brought his luggage
I keep kicking him out
but the bastard keeps returning
as welcome
as a herpes outbreak
he tells me about slutty girls
who give cheap head
and he laughs as he recounts
noisy drunken brawls
I tell him I’m different now
and this life is better
but he just smiles and reminds me
that nothing’s really changed
sure he saw me get baptized and
and even applauded
but he says
“you ain’t fooling anyone
especially God or me.
You’re the same as before.”
He’s my ghost
with rotting skin
and a putrid stench.
He tries to wrap himself
around me
like he’s clothing the naked
but I keep
brushing him off
a pesky flea
that wants
to wreck my world.
Every job I take
he’s there
every person I meet
he’s there
every cell phone I buy
comes with his contact info
pre-loaded
he’s like a bizarre AA sponsor
who always wants to talk
“Come on home, son.
I know it’s a shithouse,
but it’s still your home.”
One of these days
I’ll wear him down
but he’s tenacious
and he rises
again and again and again
no matter how many
times I bury him
this is no way to spend a life
some days all I do
is keep shoveling dirt on him
and yet he rises
he’s my zombie
and when he’s around
every day is
my the night
of the living dead.
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