AS IF THERE'S NO TOMORROW

AS IF THERE'S NO TOMORROW

I plan to let my engine rev and shift it into overdrive,
To buzz the local plaza, and give the cops a high five.
As long as I am able to go speeding past my sorrow,
I'll live with throttle open wide as if there's no tomorrow.
My dyskinetic feet, they cannot find the brake pedal,
It's a daily test of my moxie, my firm resolve and my mettle.
So if you see me coming, I'm warning you beware,
I'm a man of steel and I'm hell on wheels, 
Cruising through without a care

There are those who say I'm a gloomy guss,
Whose only goal is to fume and fuss,
But they are wrong I'm sure you'll see.
My days are long and sometimes lonely,
I wait here at home for my one and only,
Who works hard for the money, that cursed legal tender,
Leaving me to ponder the terms of my surrender.
For disease it has me in its grip,
Into its whirlpool I slide and I slip,
Come perilously close to letting go,
But I hold on firmly for the sake of the night,
And his arms that hold me fast and tight,
As if there's no tomorrow.

I cannot write a Hallmark card,
I've never lived that kind of life,
I live with the fragments and the shards,
Pain that cuts like the blade of a knife.
Unless you've walked in these rigid shoes,
Do not diminish the depth of these blues,
Nor the lengths I sometimes go to hide them.
Antidepressants only go so far,
My life is like a blazing star,
Soon to fade and flicker out.
I have no currency in this kingdom,
Nor have I any clout.

I only rise and do my best,
To pass the daily Rorshach test,
To find the vivid colors left,
To connect the dots and plummet the depths,
To adjust my meds to the ebb and flow,
Try not to ponder demise and death,
As if there's no tomorrow.

Do not get your feelings hurt if I lash you with my tongue,
I suffer fools not gladly, should they be old or young.
A waterfall of wicked words might come spewing from my lips,
Hot molten vocabulary, bubbling like Vesuvius.
i've been building for some time,
Just follow my bouncing ball of rhyme,
And wear your comfy work clothes,
I should not make a mess of those,
When alas my stack she blows.

I plan to rev my engine loud and long,
Until at last it spits and sputters,
Until my voice its last words utters.
After that live on I may, it's really not for me to say.
Don't tread on me, don't ride my back,
I am no fancy Cadillac,
Much less some sporty Peugot,
I'm coming at last to the finish line,
The church bells chime of borrowed time,
As if there's no tomorrow.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED