and basement poetry shows...
I died there, too.
But I made the Grim Reaper’s job hell.
But I made the Grim Reaper’s job hell.
That’s what I wish for you, for anyone.
To make the sonofabitch curse your name as he drags you down.
To make him swing a few times. To miss a few more.
I even gave him a run for his money...
I made him swap out his scythe for a hatchet.
I made him swap out his hatchet for a *hammer.
I made him swap his hammer for a 40oz of Olde English and a bag of blow.
I traded it all for a dull pencil,
and a home,
and I would do it all again.
That’s it, kid.
Make it so hard to killed
that you get the mother fucker in serious trouble
with his employer...
That’s it.
What a glorious, thunderous way to live.
To single-handedly ruin the Grim Reaper's weapons and wisdom
at your outright refusal to die…
Just do it in theaters instead.