NOT a disease
to someone lying in a hospital bed
with 17 seconds of life left
after struggling with cancer for many years.
Neither is morbid obesity,
opioid addiction
or exercise bulimia.
Nope,
none of these voluntary habits
are diseases in the same way that
when your heart simply explodes
in your chest, and you drop
to the floor, dead is a disease.
Sometimes it takes a while
to learn the most obvious things.
Alcohol and sex
both create magical escapes
from the horrible truth
that you’re gonna die someday,
someday soon,
and it’s hard to enjoy much of anything
with that grim reaper
laughing just behind you
and biding his time
because he’s got all the time
in the world, all the time
in the universe for fuck sake.
Whereas you,
whether you’re getting shitfaced drunk
or shooting your wad onto the big breasts
of an imagined or actual lover
only lasts for as long as it lasts
and then you glance back over your shoulder
and the reaper
still stands patiently waiting.
