WHEN THE BATTERY GOES RED

And there’s no cable, we write on death row.

Each line could be our last breath.

We leave without saying what we really needed to, what we had to.

The gap behind us closes up way too quick.

Within a year our friends have forgotten our middle name.

The words are curly notches, counting up not down.

In the end, we pull the plug ourselves.

Now we’re immortal.

The writers who take their own life are the ones whose work accrues twice the praise allowing them to go down in history as a cult figure when really their writing was so-so.

February 24, 2010
Filed Under What we're all thinking 

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