You’re not a junkie, you’re a Prince
And, someday soon, you’ll be a King.
The telling trait of a monarch:
They’re in control of everything.
So, let your monkey go unfed –
Tell your desires “quiet down” –
Square up your shoulders and your jaw;
A level head must bear the crown
This ode I write to my Dark Lord
Who will not back out of a fight
He might diffuse it, like a bomb,
Like changing angles of a light.
You’ll see his kindness, not remorse.
He knows life, often, isn’t fair.
He follows whims, does as he please,
But he’s hardly without a care.
I love him too much to think straight
But, to be fair, he twists his words.
We seem to be a mismatched pair
When, really, we’re both his’try nerds.
He’s simple, yet oh-so refined.
A lit cigar hangs from his mouth.
We rode together, for a ways –
He travels East, while I go South.
But if you’ll tell me where you’ll be
The next five years, or maybe more,
Once I’ve found my Fountain of Youth
I’ll want to show up at your door.
If I find your arms are not open,
Forget every word I’ve just spoken.