Life After Death

Act One began way back when mother had a son

Who asked her, “What’s the meaning of life? What happens when it’s done?”

And, “What happened to the family dog? Where has grandma gone?”

She put The Book into my hand and said to read it word-for word.

“This holds the keys to every answer to every question you’ve ever heard.”

And so I read it front to back, and then I read it all again;

I went to church on every Sunday and on Wednesdays with my friends.

I learned how all of life began and what would happen when it ends.

If I lived a life divine, enduring glory would be mine,

And I would see my loved ones all again until beyond the end of time.

There is life after death, and that’s the best part:

If you’ve faith in your brain and love in your heart,

There is naught to fear, for when mortal life ends,

An existence eternal and blissful begins.

Act Two continued on through middle school,

Where everyone who tried to help me, I regarded as a fool.

I grew depressed and self-loathing like the other numb kids;

I believed what they told me, and I behaved as they did.

When my best friend climbed into the passenger seat

With his brother who’d had way too much to drink,

They perished after pulling a most impressive feat;

I saw photos of the wreckage and didn’t know what to think …

I had long since lost my childish notions of Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory.

I had long since grown disinterested in cheap comforts and bedtime stories.

While I’d have loved to believe I would see him again,

I knew all that would ever matter had come to an end.

His short life had held meaning for which few could contend,

But we’d all seen the last of our dearest late friend.

There is no life after death, and that’s the best part;

All we’re guaranteed in existence is a brain and a heart.

There is nothing to fear, for when mortal life ends,

There’s no pain or awareness, just like before it began.

Act Three was a breeze until the day you left me.

The heartache you harbored must have been too great to see

For you never sought help, never unshackled your grief,

Just took a handful of pills so you could escape in your sleep …

And it’s no one’s fault but mine that I didn’t stop to see the signs

Like when you told me you felt ugly and I never noticed you were cryin’.

I said, “The great thing about beauty is it exists whether you choose to see it or not,”

And when I think of that night, my stomach turns to knots, my mind starts to rot.

Maybe you got too selfish to see our selfish need.

Maybe you just didn’t care enough to honor plans that we’d agreed.

Maybe you were buried under too much weight 

to realize that you could’ve been great.

Maybe you had too much on your plate 

to see things could be better if you’d only just wait.

Maybe you got mad or carried-away and didn’t stop to think how we would miss you,

But that isn’t the issue, and you’ve got friends who will dwell on all they didn’t and did do.

I guess your curiosity wasn’t great enough to see what tomorrow could hold.

To think where your mind must have been makes me shiver from cold.

I do not believe what you did was a personal attack.

I do not believe your last thoughts were of vengeance before all faded to black.

I do not believe you only wanted to show us what we took for granted

By abandoning us all to be forever disenchanted …

But now I can never be sure; all I’m left here to do is wonder,

Lost, alone, uncertain, and literally torn asunder.

Of course there’s life after death, and that’s the scariest part,

For those left behind with bruised brains and broken hearts.

All the bridges burned and lovers spurned and family turned to strangers,

Words unspoken and questions unanswered and heartache that hardens to anger …

There is life after death for all of us left behind

With our torturous thoughts and our muddled minds.

It’s this undeniable fact that makes life so unkind:

Being left alone and helpless, unable to rewind.

Casanova

They call me Casanova

Because I’m just that good.

I see you walking over,

Just as I knew you would.

I glanced across the room

To quickly catch your eye,

Then shifted nervously

To make you think I’m shy,

And after several minutes

I caught your eye again,

And, with a hint of coyness,

I flashed my winning grin.

We played this for an hour;

I had to wait you out,

But you could not resist me;

I had you figured out.

So now you’re in my pocket;

I know the game is won.

I’ll ask you to my dwelling

To have a bit of fun,

And though I’m being forward,

I know that you’ll oblige

Because by now you’ve fallen

Victim to my disguise.

So when we storm my front porch,

Already tongue-to-tongue,

I’ll whisper to remind you

The night has just begun.

I knew since I first saw you

That you would sure put out,

‘Cause I have got the nostrum

That you can’t live without.

I’ve had some girls before you,

Who giggled much like you;

I knew the game they played, though,

Because I play it too.

I’ll lift your shirt and kiss you

While you unzip my fly.

I’ll lick you limb-to-torso;

You’ll arch your back and cry.

When I undo your bra strap,

Your heart will hasten pace.

You’ll shiver in the blanket

And touch my shaven face.

You’ll say, “My God, who are you?

I don’t think that we should ...”

I’ll say, “I’m Casanova,

And I am just that good.”

I’ll bring you high to climax

Then push you right back down.

You’ll beg me not to stop it

And flash that playful frown.

I’ll leave you cold and sweaty

And begging me for more,

And maybe I’ll oblige you,

Despite that you’re a whore.

Now when I kiss you softly,

The sequence of events

Will make you melt, reluctant,

And fill with hot suspense.

So when this first date’s over,

You’ll want a second, sure,

But will I really like you?

My motives are too pure.

I don’t have time to waste here

With infidels and sluts.

I need to know I love you

Before you make the cut.

You’ll call me Casanova

Because I’m just that good.

“Can I come back tomorrow?”

I swear I knew you would.

So on our fifth or sixth date,

When I am sure you’ll do,

I’ll drag you to the kitchen

And start to batter you.

I’ll strangle you with hangers

And make you scream to stop.

I’ll wrap the wire around you

Until your airway pops.

And when your fingers graze me,

So light, this final time,

I’ll stop and smile serenely,

Because they’ll feel sublime,

And when my club completes you,

You draw your final breath,

I’ll stagger to my bedroom

To get a hit of meth.

Then we’ll walk to the crawl-space,

Together after all;

I’ll dip my fingers in you

And paint you on my wall.

I’ll think, “Oh, Casanova,

This don’t look as it should.

I’ll need just nine more lovers

To make my mural good.”

So should policemen find you

In twenty years or more,

They’ll hardly recognize you

Buried beneath the gore.

Your head is in the oven,

Your hair has clogged the drain.

Those golden locks, so lovely,

Did prove to be a pain.

Bones are buried in the sand

In quite a hefty heap.

Skin is sewn upon my own,

Forever mine to keep.

Your organs long since eaten,

Your soul lives on through mine.

I lie in bed and touch you;

Our fingers intertwine.

Your legs inside the armoire,

My ring upon your hand,

You’ll make it through this, lovely,

My favorite five-night-stand.

They’ll call me Casanova,

And, girl, you know they should.

My name will long outlive me,

‘Cause I was just that good.