RIP Mat

blank pages echo my voiceWhile the skeletal hand of the grim reaper is reaching out to grasp at my heart.

total molecular shutdown,

the theme has proven itself anticlimactic

it’s that last chapter that kept you wanting more

left you angry with the author

suffocating

I am choking on his memory

and angry

angry with the situation, angry with his death, angry with god

he deserved a better ending

he deserved to go out wasted and brawling,

not wasting away and broken,

in a paper gown

yellow swollen.

his eyes held intelligence,

intelligence born of hundred plus July days in the UGL

reading any book he could get his hands on,

filling his mind with truth, opinion, and life

on pages.

His belly bore scars of knife fights long past

the shining pink line from navel to sternum

speaks of a cold New York night

when cool steel tore soft flesh, and he crawled

crawled two blocks holding slippery warm intestines

trying desperatly to survive.

This is what staring death in the face looks like

and he faced it

burly rough, and when it came

he lifted one puffy jaundiced digit

and in all his sallow glory

This man gave death the finger.

for mat….

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